


Monster Squad

by Grigiocuore



Series: Monster Squad Series [2]
Category: Psych
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anita Blake-style, Gen, Urban Fantasy, Vampire Hunter! Shawn, Vampire! Lassie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-16 16:03:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3494453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grigiocuore/pseuds/Grigiocuore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mysterious killer is lurking around in hot Santa Barbara; and neither vampires nor humans are safe. The Monster Squad, a precinct specialized in supernatural crimes and guided by the most prudish vampire in history, is on the case, but the trails are tricky and time is running out. Enter Shawn Spencer, ex-Vampire Hunter and proud pain in the ass of Preternatural community. Full story behind the Teaser Chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Working Night

**Author's Note:**

> So, here I am, writing a Urban Fantasy AU for our Psychos. I strongly suggest to read the Teaser Chapter previously pulbished before this one, but it is basically what you imagine: Lassie is a Civil War Vampire, Jules a werewolf, Gus a very awkward jinn and Shawn...well, Shawn is the rebel son of a Vampire Hunter, of course.  
> Weekly updates, If I manage. Ready? Let's go.

**Chapter 1**

**-A Working Night-**

Juliet really liked stakeouts. 

Once she had complained like any other cop about cold feet and stiffened backs, but since a terrifying cursed beast nearly tore off her shoulder none of that was trouble anymore. It was one of the few advantages of being a monster: you are much more able to indulge in delicacies and details humans missed, sure your joints would be ready to leap any moment, sleep wound shove back at the least hint of danger. Stakeouts were now magnificent moments to think and ease knots. And to harass her partner, of course. 

-Lazy night, mh?- 

-I don’t think so, O’Hara. We’ve been convened by Victoria for tomorrow night. We’re dealing with a probable preternatural serial killer and we have those two twerps on the case.- 

-I was being _sarcastic_ , Carlton.- 

-Oh.- 

Juliet sighed, casting him a look from the passenger seat. Carlton was cleaning up his gun, filling air with the smell of gun-oil and tiny clock-like rattles. He had put on his black leather gloves, but some spots would require him to take them off and they’d burn his fingers. The gun was a modified Glock, carved in webs and twisted wings, clad in pure silver. In the dark it gleamed like a jewel, and even at that distance Juliet repressed a shiver. She didn’t like it. She didn’t like that he had to hurt himself every time and his eyes while he did it, because they felt too much like expiation. 

-You’re worried about the meeting?- 

-Properly so.- He muttered. –I haven’t been summoned by Victoria in more than four months. Even back then, in quiet times, stepping in the Court wasn’t advisable. Bringing there the Psych idiots and you is nearly suicide.- 

-I can manage myself quite well.- 

-That’s not what I’m worried about, O’Hara.- 

The long hands on the gun had stopped for a second. She pretended not to see. 

-Don’t fret so much now. We would be there as PD officers, and as Supernaturals too. We’d be a very showy group to eliminate, and Victoria is too smart not to know it. The consequences would be troublesome.- 

-Or entertaining. She doesn’t think like us.- He flinched. – _Them_. Like them.- 

Jules turned to him. There was such sorrow in his words, so much for one just man. It seemed so unfair. It was there Jules noted how pale he looked, how frenzied his eyes were, like an over-exposed photo. Oh, damn, damn idiot. She tightened her lips. 

-Carlton. When did you eat last time?- 

-I had a donut this evening.- 

-I didn’t mean that and you know it.- 

He gnarled softly. - _That_ is not eating.- 

-It is for you. And put back those teeth, you’re not impressing anyone.- 

They scowled at each other a moment longer, and then Lassiter slumped on the seat with a snap of fangs. It was a quarrel as long as their friendship. He would say nothing for weeks, she would advise gently, he played dumb, they argued and the day after he came in office with cheeks vaguely pink and not even looking at her. Carlton was a fairly old vampire, so he could draw long stretches of time without feeding; but there was a difference between that and _never_. She had seen his face watching blood, his skin graying and dying when he had almost drained himself. She understood it. She was terrified by it. 

-Besides, it’s not like I’m suggesting you to savagely gorge on virgins’ neck. There are perfectly acceptable possibilities. Animals, donors.- 

-I’m perfectly fine.- 

-Carlton, come on. You can’t starve yourself like this. There’s no need. And you get cranky as Hell when you’re hungry.- 

-I can’t starve, O’Hara, ‘cause I’m dead.- His voice got sharp, and Juliet’s heart twitched. He really believed it. Oh, gosh. She was suddenly leaning across the seats, stopping his hands. 

-No Carlton, no. You’re not dead.- She squeezed his fingers. –You speak to me, you get pissed. You read Jane Austen and nearly sob. You laugh. I don’t know what you are, but this is _not_ being dead.- 

He watched her with a frown. He wasn’t breathing, the fingers were cold. He was trying his hardest to feel less human possible. She didn’t let go. 

-Oh, _Hell_. Whatever. Think what you want. Pass me the chips.- 

Juliet smiled. She started to feel for the half-filled _Let’s_ tucked somewhere in the glove box, when she heard the man walking. The feeling hit on her senses like a saturated after-image, smashing any other thought. Man. Breathing. Ten feet from them. Hunt. _Run_. She swallowed hard and reached for her holster. 

-The guy’s coming.- 

The Glock clacked behind her. –I know.- 

The steps splashed in the last-rain pools, fast, and they got nearer. They got out of the car in sync, swift but not too swift, guns drawn and aiming. Half a face flashed in the Ford’s headlights, turning sharply to them. Jules studied him. The guy was no more than seventeen, lanky, red All Stars, a baseball cap tucked low on the face. He cursed, but didn’t reach out for any pockets. Probably no hidden guns. Carlton took a step forward. 

-SBPPD, don’t move. I inform you you’re under arrest for complicity in Selkie skins traffic.- 

-Fuck you.- The boy said. 

-This is not getting you anywhere, boyo. Any attempt at resistance would allow us to neutralize you. I strongly suggest to collaborate.- 

The boy spat and staggered back, just a bit. Was he scared? Carlton reached out of another step. The boy bent on his legs. 

-C’mon, kid. Follow us, and no one would get hurt.- 

-Fuck you.- He said again, and a double row of snake-teeth snapped open under the cap. 

Shit. 

The attack was so sudden Juliet didn’t see it. She glimpsed just a blur of yellow eyes and red tongue and hissing fangs, hot scales brushing her cheek. She crouched, waiting for the blow, but the lizard-boy just flew past her, stomping from the brick wall in the air. 

-Dammit!- 

-O’Hara. You right?- 

She got up, gulping. The boy was racing high to the nearest building. 

-Damn. A shapeshifter. We lost him.- 

-Not for long.- 

The flow of power was short and clean. It shook the hallway, hot enough to crawl along her skin, ringing loud like a gunshot, and then her partner dashed in chase. 

Watching a vampire at his full power is like stripping a skeleton of any human layer. Plump lips and long eyelashes fell away; gestures and moods faded too. They change in pure force, pure hunger, the essential lines of a living moving body. Her best friend was still in his suit and shoes and gloves, but he did not need any of it. His skin got bleached. Carlton's eyes burnt. Lips spilled white fangs as he ran up the building. He did not crawl and he did not climb, pale claws grasping cracks and bricks and shadows, flowing up, a thing of black and blue fire and nothing more. It took Juliet five seconds to breathe again and run after them. 

She reached the building and was easy, so easy grabbing the first sill, rushing up. Run. _Hunt_. She let her body go and her body knew, up, up, third floor cornice roof. She landed in a crouch. The concrete shone with moon. The lizard-boy was some twenty feet from her, hissing, swishing away on things that were neither paws nor hands. Carlton watched him with a strange mix of his eyes and other eyes and just leapt. The boy saw him, gave a shriek. Carlton landed on him with a growl. There was no real fight: Carlton just seized the boy’s claw, smashing it to the ground, teeth bared. The boy whimpered, slashing around. Carlton hissed. The hot blue power flowed again, just around the edges, and he quieted down. 

Juliet let out a breath. She reached for the handcuffs, and there was when the second lizard-man arrived. She saw him dashing out of the chimney shadows, seizing Carlton and throwing him to the other end of the roof. A slick of blood arched behind him. 

It was her body to choose. It felt all so very right, so very simple. Something inside Jules snapped. Enemies. Hurt Carlton. Stop it. Blood roared in her head. Kill it. 

She was running towards the lizard-man before knowing it. Blood pumped harder. She felt bones snapping, in arms and legs and face. Fangs crashed her mouth. Her skin ripped. It hurt like Hell. She growled, _howled_. Juliet slipped away. 

Her teeth sank in the lizard’s throat. 

The lizard cried, thrashing around, but it didn’t bother her. He was meat. He was prey. She felt blood pooling in her mouth and slurped it down. Something hit her in the shoulder, but her skin was strong, her fur was thick. She roared in anger. Hurt. Pay. She slashed out, and her claws dig deep, sank in the scales. The lizard fell back. He smelled of sweat and fear and food. Eat. She howled, and tucked down her muzzle and munched, meat and skin and bone, crunching under her teeth. It shrieked, she cared not. She was stronger, stronger. Eat. 

-O’Hara.- 

The smell came first. Bad meat, wrong meat. She looked up. 

-Enough O’Hara. Let him go.- 

She turned. The bad smell came from a thing standing in front of her. The thing was strong and cold and it smelled like bones. Bad cold meat. 

She crouched on the good meat, growling softly. 

-C’mon O’Hara. You don’t want it.- 

The thing got nearer. She growled harder. The thing hummed with power but it did not attack. It made sounds. That was wrong. She shook her head. O’Hara. Carlton. Bad meat. Cold. _Carlton_. He crouched in front of her and she snapped her fangs, ready to leap, ready to charge. 

-O’Hara, O’Hara. Juliet.- 

Juliet. Juliet whined. She could feel his heartbeat, blood and meat singing under the skin. It was not meat to eat. It was meat to kill. Smash it, rip it. Juliet could do it. She must do it. She whimpered. Her bones _ached_ to shoot. Carlton. 

The thing offered his neck. Lifted a hand. He called her just once more. 

-Juliet.- 

That was it. Juliet let out a howl, and fell back. Her body burned again. Changed. Bones snapped, the jaw clacked back in place. Skin broke back over fur. She cried, because it hurt, it hurt so much and suddenly there were no claws no teeth no meat, and she was not strong. She was Juliet. She was a woman. She was a woman sitting on a bleeding half-dead man, gagging on a chunk of his shoulder. She crawled away and puked her guts out on the concrete, crying, high short sobs ripping across her chest. Black spots filled her eyes. The shoulder ached. Everything ached. I’m lost, God, I’m one of the lost. 

-I’m so sorry. I'm so sorry.- 

-O'Hara.- 

-I'm so sorry.- 

-I know O’Hara.- 

-God, God I'm so sorry.- 

Someone had pulled back her hair while puking. 

-I really know, O’Hara.- 


	2. Down To Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our Monster Squad is meeting Victoria, Mistress of Santa Barbra vampires and Lassie's ex-mate. As I need to beat the crap out of Lassie at some point of every fic, why not right here.

**Chapter 2**

**-Down To Business-**

Lassie leant to adjust Shawn’s jacket for the fourth time. He slapped his hand away. 

-Lassie, quit it. I’m not going to visit my Grandma.- 

-No, for this is thousand times more compromising.- His pale face got even paler. -Sweet Justice, how can you always look so dastardly _shabby_?- 

-Can't you chill a bit?- 

-I’m going to introduce you two idiots to Victoria, Mistress of Santa Barbara, Wife of Bones, one of the most powerful and fiercest Masters of West Coast. Don’t tell me to chill.- 

Lassie finally adjusted the sleeve, pulling it hard enough to strap the stitches. He growled. 

On his behalf, they were all quite nervous. Standing in a deserted parking with the prospective to meet a Supernatural mob lady tends to do this effect. And there was a reason even for him to act like a fretting Mom. Before the appointment with Victoria their vamp had imposed two conditions: decent suits and no weapons. Jules's pearls twinkled softly on the silk shirt. Gus had put on his Rep tie. Shawn had exhumed his jersey black jacket and black jeans almost totally clean. 

Lassiter was in his black velvet suit, with the golden-buttons frock-coat, a pocket watch chain blinking across the waistcoat. For once the outfit was not his fault. He was second in command: once in the Court, he had to look powerful, fancy and not human at all. And velvet hided well the Glock. 

Juliet walked to them in a click-clack of heels. 

-Guys, c’mon. We’re all pretty enough. The earlier we get in, the earlier we’ll be finished.- 

-Jules is right.- Gus noted. Better, squeaked. -I mean, fidgeting out here just makes everything worse.- 

Both he and Lassie grunted an agreement. Shawn looked down at his All Stars. The Head Detective fell back on playing with _his_ tie. 

-Okay, rules. Walk behind me. Do not talk to anyone if not questioned, but keep your eyes high. And above all, above all, follow me. Follow _me_ , Spencer.- 

-Why are you looking at me?- 

-Spencer. Stick to the rules.- 

-Uh, okay. Gotcha. After you, Lord Lassiepants.- 

He wasn’t sure Lassie caught the sarcasm. He was still staring hard at the Court door. It was a very non-descriptive door, metal and plastic windows, ugly, the kind you find in high school gyms. Nothing said it was more than that except the rough crown sprayed in black on one corner. Shawn was pretty sure Lassie was staring at the crown and nothing else. 

Then he straightened his back and strolled across the door, and Jules looked back just for a sec before following him. A breath, two, and they were both sucked in the shadows. 

Gus walked to Shawn, he took a step. They both stopped by the threshold. 

-It won’t be easy, right?- 

-I think not, buddy.- 

Gus sighed. Licked his lips. 

-But it’ll be funny, _right_?- 

-I fairly doubt it, buddy.- 

* 

The Vampire Court rose up a block away from Santa Barbara’s oldest shopping mall. Court was probably much too fancy a name; it was basically an underground parking converted ten years before with a great deal of candlelight and velvet curtains, but vamps loved nice names even more than nice things. The four of them were walking along moist-smelling corridors, steps echoing. The neon lights had been blown off long before and lanterns flickered on graffiti and never-washed oil stains. Hangings scattered the walls, dainty maidens chasing unicorns next to broken pipes. Vamps are old, so they tend to border laziness: Courts are place to shelter or to hide thorny things, no more. A war would sometimes come, or a plague or a storm; there was no point in building something that would anyway fall. Shawn secretly agreed. 

Lassie strolled along stairs and turns with grumpy ease and they all fell back like ducklings. They didn’t see anyone, but there were shuffles around them, soft laughs, just enough to make Shawn peer at every side-exits on their path. 

He cleared his throat. 

-So, Wednesday. Lazy day, isn’t it?- 

-Spencer, shut up.- Lassie gritted out. -They are watching.- 

Gus kicked his best friend's calf hard enough to persuade him. 

They climbed down a last row of stairs and stopped in front of a massive double door. The right side of the wall was painted with the big blue F of the floor. A soft amber light filtered from under the shutters. Shawn didn’t feel the rush of power, but he did hear whispering, saw the shadows of feet stretching across the floor. He straightened his back. 

Lassie banged on the doors, just once, the metal vibrating deep all the way to the joints. They waited. The shutter cracked open, and someone got out of it. Someone big. Shaved head, ebony skin. Looking at him Shawn knew instantly that he was a young vamp and that even without the optional he could splat his head with a single slap. How comforting. 

The big big man gave a long look at them. It had been some time since last time Shawn felt exactly like a ham roast, but luckily enough the giant sharply turned to Lassie. Their vamp looked even scrawnier beside him. Still, it was the guy to bow deeply. 

-Greetings, Colonel.- 

-Greetings, Maxwell.- 

-Our lady is waiting for you.- Lizard-green eyes shot to Shawn’s neck. - Are those yours?- 

-Aye. They walk under my gaze, sleep under my hand. I bring them with no blood, and with no blood I will go back.- 

Lassie said it all with the passion you use while reading a shopping list. He was actually terrible at passionate reciting, and that bad in a community made for most part by picky ex-courtesans. Shawn had seen him performing a vamp ritual just one other time, and it had been painful to see. Such a party-blooper. However it worked, because the giant looked up for permission, got up after a nod and didn’t watch anymore any of the three of them. 

-If you want, we shall go. It is not good to let the lady wait.- 

-No it is not.- Lassie gave another curt nod to the doors. –Lead the way.- 

-Yes sir.- 

Maxwell the big guy spread out the double doors, and they stepped in along a short square corridor. Pale faces followed them along the walls. Some bowed slowly at Lassie; some snickered, cursing behind their backs. Shawn and the others were proceeding a bit too swift, so much that Gus almost bumped in Lassie's back twice. The creepiest thing however was the silence; as soon as they got there, and as they got nearer to the doors on the other side of the corridor, the voices around grew softer. Disappeared. When they got at the end and the big henchman bowed his way out, not a sound was echoing in the whole damn corridor. As banal as it could sound, yeah, Shawn didn't like it a bit. 

They all gathered in front of the doors, peering from over Lassie's shoulders. All of them stared at the crown mark streaked on the door. 

-Whenever you want, Carlton. We have you covered.- Jules whispered. 

Lassie nodded. -Roger.- 

He pushed open the door. It slowly cracked open. They took some steps in, one two three. They bounced all around like heartbeats. The doors snapped shut behind them, and for a moment there was just the dark, shadows stretching around and arms brushing hands. 

-Son, here you are at last.- 

All of them jerked towards the voice. Lassie just turned. On the left, far beyond, far deep in the crimson shadows, someone moved. The someone was sitting on a throne made of shards of stone and bones. A white claw rose forward. Blood eyes blinked at them. 

-Here you at last.- 

Happy freakin’ Halloween. 

* 

The Master of Santa Barbara didn't look beautiful. Her thick dark curls flowed down her back, kept tight off her forehead by thin black gems. Her lips blazed red with no makeup at all. She had every mean to be beautiful, she was not. She was one of the vampires, one of the few, actually, that had been changed when they’d already lived a fairly amount of life. Magic just stopped, and Victoria had been stopped when she had been a full beautiful woman, already touched by time, already aging. That however had been a very, very long time ago. She was probably still beautiful, but above all she was Vampire. You wondered first other things. How fast can she drain me? Can I cry? How far can I go before she rips out my throat? 

-Come, come nearer. Let me see you in the light.- 

From the wide-eyed greenish look on Gus and Jules’ faces they were not exactly eager to walk forward, but Lassie pushed his chin up and started for the throne dais. They inched forward behind him. Jules looked ready to throw up. It was probably her first time in a Vamps’ court, and everybody knew they weren’t good places for werewolves, even not-transformed like her. Her fangs flickered out. 

_Her what?_

Lassie reached the dais and fell on one knee, the right wrist held high and bare over his head. – Greetings, Mistress. I thank you for the blood in my veins, I thank you for the beat in my heart-. 

-Carlton, my dearest son. Get up, get up. No need for these formalities between us.- 

She watched Lassie rising with care and turned to face them. Victoria was wearing a long dark gown, heavy silk cupping round arms and firm breasts. Lantern light beamed off chalk skin. Most masters tried to look as human as possible, hiding power under jeans and tailored suits, but not Victoria. She was too old to give a damn about it. 

-Oh, hello hello. Here are Carlton’s little friends. You don’t know how anxiously I wait for us to meet.- She let a finger wander in their direction. –Let’s see, let’s see. The gracious girl should be the officer, I suppose. And there I saw the heir of Guster House. And here.- She grinned. 

-Here we have Henry Spencer’s offspring, nevertheless. Hilarious. Trust Carlton to choose the strangest friends.- 

-Well, yeah. He’s such a cool kid at the kindergarten.- Lassie was surely glaring at him, but Shawn couldn’t give a damn. Being cocooned by the Wife of Bones felt just too weird. 

She laughed. It was a myth that vampires' laughs had otherworldly qualities echoing of everything from orgasm to death chariots guided by angry Valkyries. Like among humans there were good laughs and bad ones, and Victoria’s was rich, pleasant like a mom’s. 

-Oh, my apologies, young Spencer. I forgot how proud men are not to be children anymore.- She rose a claw-hand again. 

-Carlton, dearest, come here by my side.- 

-I’d rather not, Mistress.- 

- _Come here_ , Carlton.- 

Victoria’s voice was just one step from a snarl. Lassie stiffened, mounted slowly up the dais, stopping by her, face blank. Shawn wondered how many time it had already happened. His guts twisted. 

-Better, better my dear.- She smiled.-I see you’ve dressed for me. I remember this suit.- She gave a sharp trust to the watch chain, pulling him closer, rubbing all the way down his hip. Lassie’s hands clutched along his sides. There was something disturbingly predatory in that touch, something that wasn’t even a lover’s brush. It was the way you touch a fancy knick-knack on your desk. It was property. 

-Mistress, please. I think it’s not appro- 

-I tore all of this off death, boy.- The hand played with the waistcoat buttons, slowly, forcing out a shudder. -I can dispose of it as I see fit.- 

-Su.- Lassie swallowed. Shawn didn’t look at his eyes. -Sure, ma’am.- 

-Good boy.- 

Victoria let him go with a sigh. –Enough, Carlton. Talk freely.- 

-Your call has been utterly surprising. May I ask you the reason behind such a honor, Mistress?- 

-I think you can imagine some of it.- The Wife of Bones shot him a glance. 

-Why are my children dying, Carlton?- 

Lassie tightened his lips. –Victoria.- 

-You told me to trust in your justice, back when I let you join that curious circus of freaks. You told me we would be protected like anyone of the day-folk. So what is your lot doing for us?- 

-We’re investigating, Victoria. Our necromancer would perform the ritual tomorrow night. We have bonds and times to respect.- 

-So break them.- 

-I cannot. If we want to live in the world again, we need them. We need boundaries we can demonstrate we can respect.- 

Jules and Gus were throwing him alarmed looks, but Shawn had no desire to push in the conversation. Lassie was handling it pretty well, so far. The shit was still around ankles. Shawn brushed his back without thinking. 

Victoria rose lazily from her throne.-Yes, of course. Ah, my dear Colonel, always the same passion, always the same song since so long a time.- 

-I’m being serious, Mistress.- 

-I wouldn’t ever think the contrary. But I have responsibilities too, and I don’t doubt about where my loyalty lays. I’m a old woman, Carlton.- The silk whispered along the chunks of bones of her chair. –At some moment of its path a being’s ability at adapting and learning just dried. To me it happened centuries ago. I want to protect my kin, and know but one way to do it.- 

Lassie’s eyes widened in outrage. -You’re saying you would pull the treat?- 

She shrugged. -Blood for blood, dear. If it comes to it, I’ll do what I have to do.- 

-But you can’t- 

It was so sudden it wasn’t even scary. Shawn just blinked, heard a whoosh of air and suddenly Victoria’s hand was clutched around Lassie’s throat. Her face dried off in fangs. His mouth gaped. She swept him off his feet, and flung him across the hall. 

Lassie’s body crashed into the wall, dropping down in a heap. Jules cried. They all heard the snap of spine breaking. Shawn felt bile rising in his throat. 

-Don’t you _dare_ , brat.- The Mistress roared, her face torn in reds and whites. -Don’t you _dare_ to talk back to me. Just because I let you play cops and robbers with your little fuckers doesn’t mean you don’t belong to me anymore.- 

-Carlton!- Juliet growled and dashed forward. Shawn set out an arm to clutch her. 

-Let me go, Shawn.- 

-No.- He gulped. -If we do something we’re dead.- 

-He’s my partner.- 

- _No_ , Jules.- 

Juliet stared back at him and her eyes were bright with amber. The hand against his arm was shaking. He suddenly knew she could tear off his shoulder without breaking a sweat. 

_Oh, shit._

Breaking a vamp’s back was an allowed punishment. If Juliet shot now, they would be the attackers, and a horde of vampires would flow on them in a damn breathe. If a young werewolf attacked the Master, they were all basically fucked. 

Jules snarled again, baring fangs. She slowly licked her lips. He didn’t let go. 

-Okay, Spencer. Okay.- 

She stepped back, breathing hard. Never looking away from Lassie’s back. Neither he did. 

-Oh, such good bunnies.- A clap of hands made them flinch. - It’s sweet to see some lads still know the hold ways.- 

Shawn turned back to the dais and the monster over it. He talked as soon he got enough air. 

-Well, that was showy, ma’am.- 

-Necessary.- She replied. Victoria’s face had changed again, the fangs hidden deep, face pouty. Pretense at its place, never again. –He is mine, boyo, and mine to train.- 

-Maybe yes. I’d advise you to stop it, how- _dammit, Shawn, focus_ –however.- 

-And why so?- 

-We’re kind of a big deal in the city. I’m pretty sure things are hairy enough even without throwing in fancy killings.- 

-Was that a treat, young Spencer?- 

Victoria lashed in front of him. His hand ran to his back. The blade strapped under the jacket felt suddenly heavier. 

- _Don’t_ , boy. Or no one of you would leave this hall.- 

Shawn licked his lips. His hand fell back. 

She snorted loudly, but it didn’t really matter. The main thing was getting everyone out of there. The main thing was keeping them all in one piece. Victoria laughed, and praised him and teased a bit more, but Shawn’s attention was all for the motionless spot against the wall. 

-Very well. I think I’ve quite made my point.- She waved at them with a frown.-Now up. Go pick the other bunny.- 

-Thanks, Mistress.- 

He swallowed. Jules walked back to him, a soft growl humming deep in her throat, shaking air like a diapason. 

-Can I go?- she whispered. 

-Now yes.- 

She shoved him away and ran to Lassie. He was still where he’d fallen. She crouched by him and brushed his face, saying nothing. Victoria was not a forgiving Master, especially with her favorites. Especially with Lassie. Not all the scars on his body came from his battle days. Vamps could survive a lot of things, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t hurt as Hell. Surviving a badly broken back, feeling a crashed skull repairing itself was not something bodies are made to bear. 

Jules pushed him up, slowly, talking softly. Shawn couldn’t see him behind her shoulders, but he glimpsed misshaped angles, a blue eye blinking across blood. But it was blinking. 

-O’Hara. I’m okay.- 

She promptly ignored him. 

-You think you could walk?- 

-In less than ten minutes.- 

-You want to wait here?- 

-Not a chance in Hell.- 

She touched his cheek again. They mutually decided she could do it, and Jules draped his arm around her shoulder, pushing him up with relative ease. Gus inched slowly towards the detectives. Shawn didn’t let his gaze wander off Victoria. 

_Never close your eyes, kid._

-Can we go now, Mistress?- 

-Sure. Get out.- 

It was the moment. Jules stumbled towards the exit, Lassie’s head bouncing weakly against her shoulder. Gus fell behind them. Shawn tried hard not to skip past everybody like a bad sissy version of Roadrunner. The door never looked so far. 

-Not all of you, bunnies. The human stays here.- 

Shawn stopped midstep. He took a deep breath. So this was how it ended. Well, it was a pity, but he couldn't really complain. He supposed there could be worse deaths. 

Gus was almost out and turned for a second. They shared a look. 

-Of course, Ma’am.- 

His buddy understood and brought them out. Shawn fell back in bloody darkness, the doors clicking softly behind his favorite people. They were alone. He was sure his heart was about to snap out of his chest. 

-What do you want, Mistress?- 

-Oh, don’t get so bold all of a sudden. I do not want to kill you.- 

-Really?- 

-Really.- she said. –In truth, I just want you to consider an offer, young Spencer.- 

He should say no and try to slip away. He should get the Hell out of there and see if everyone was okay. 

He turned. _Shawn, you damn cat_. 

-An, offer?- 

-Yes.- Victoria was walking around, with no sound. –I’ve observed you for a long time, bunny. I know how they call you. The Hunter that Does Not Hunt. Charming. Sly. A child with no magic, raised to kill magic. And that now, loves it more than his own kind.- She sighed. –I fear you would have been a much better vampire than my Colonel.- 

-Geez. Look, ma’am, Lassie could have a lot of flaws, but I don’t think it’d be very nice to fire him _now_.- 

Victoria shook a long white hand. -Don’t get me wrong. Carlton has been a wonderful choice as a companion. He’s beautiful, clever, a great leader, a remarkable soldier. But, he is _good_.- 

-Well. It's kind of the point.- Shawn said. -We are the good guys, ma’am.- 

-No, bunny.- Victoria stopped in front of him. -You _work_ with the good guys. It’s an entirely different thing.- 

Shawn frowned slowly. -I fear I don’t understand.- 

-It’s simple. Carlton thinks about justice, then about his people, then about himself. He is good. You are not. Not bad, but very aware of being a thing of flesh. Very frail. Very tearable. If things required it, you’d do anything to keep it that way.- 

-I’m not a hunter, Mistress. I’ve never killed.- 

-Yes, you’re right. But I’ve observed you before. One of your friends was bleeding against a wall, and you didn’t even try to reach for him. You just thought about the best way to keep everybody alive.- 

-This doesn’t mean anything.- 

-This means _everything_.- She stared right at him, red red lips curling. – You can choose, anytime, anyway, Spencer. You are not driven by a greater call. You are free. More than any of them. Maybe now you choose to be good, because your loved ones are on that side, because it’s funnier to play. But that alone means you could also choose not to be.- 

Shawn stumbled. It all rang too close. It was all too fast. He squinted. 

-Are you offering me a job, ma’am?- 

-We could say that.- she said. -You don’t have to answer me in this moment. I’ve been here for a long time, I can wait a bit longer. But things are changing, bunny dear. New rules rose. Old died. You could use a friend like me sometimes soon.- 

Shawn swallowed, trying a smirk. -I really doubt you have ever been a friend for anyone, Mistress.- 

Victoria grinned. That grin would haunt him all the way out of that place. 

-Smart kid.- 

* 

When Shawn got home that night dawn was breaking. He dragged himself across the door, half-stumbled on his own shoes as he took them off and his mouth felt full of sawdust and ketchup. On their way from Victoria’s Court he and Gus had insisted on stopping at the Taqueria. They had driven there in silence. Jules was on the backseat, shoving Carlton’s head down every time he tried to get up. He would heal, he was already healing. But vampire bones are actually still bones, so if they break they need to reassert and clack back in place, and it hurts like Hell. Shawn had been extremely careful at not looking backward more than necessary, but he still heard Lassie hissing, Jules’s hushing as things clacked and snapped and cracked inside him. It sounded a bit like sugar tablets snapping. _Snap snap snap_. There was not a thing they could do to help and no one had intention to leave the others, so they did stop at the fast food. Shawn had ordered just a pineapple smoothie. Gus had taken the fries with shaking hands. They had been less than one step from being chopped in pieces and Lassie was bleeding on the Blueberry seat, and they all knew it. 

Shawn dropped on his couch and got himself nearly stabbed. He took off the blade from his back holster with a deep sigh. Full metal, holy carvings. His fancy Hunter blade. 

Fuck yeah Shawn. Fuck yeah. 

His phone started to buzz in his pocket. He took it out with a second sigh, checked the ID caller. He shoved it at the other end of the couch. Shawn slumped on his side. The blade fell clacking on the coffee table, between a pack of M &Ms and the remote control. The phone kept buzzing. 

-No, Pope.- Shawn closed his eyes. 

–Not this night.- 


	3. Seeking Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shawn tries to do the right thing, and it doesn't go too well. Woody the Necromancer brings back the dead for the Monster Squad. An interesting trails is revealed. Seeking truths is a bloody job.

**Chapter 3**

**-Seeking Truths-**

The night after Shawn and Gus strolled in the precinct around eleven o’clock to witness Woody's Ritual on the victim's body. That morning neither of them had been particularly cheery and they still weren’t, but an afternoon of Magnum reruns had done miracles to their moral. As to say, they could walk around without yelping at anyone's laughing. They found Jules at the photocopy machine, sipping from her mug and studying a folder. Her nails were newly painted in pink. 

-Ehy Jules.- 

-Ehy boys. How’s going?- 

-Peachy. Just ready to rise some dead.- 

His voice dropped. –And you two?- 

She sighed in the coffee. -Pretty fine. He’s over at the desks. Moody as a ghoul.- 

-Gotten out of the wrong side of the coffin?- 

Shawn got fried by two sets of glares. 

–Sorry. That was lame.- 

-Yes it was.-Jules's nails scratched the mug. Lassie was walking when he and Gus had left him by his car, but Juliet's face had been whiter than his. Shawn was positive she hadn't slept far from his flat that night. 

-Hoverer, it’s not for _that_.- Jules picked up the Gazette from Buzz’s desk and tossed it to Shawn. –It’s for this.- 

Shawn gave a quick look at it, Gus peering over his shoulder. The main article showed an ugly photo of the Chief from the mayor meeting two weeks before, and a big bold-letter title screaming “Monster-frenzy”. His eyes grasped the words “panic”, “ambiguous”, “inconceivable conduct" and other expressions Spanish Inquisition would have happily adopted. 

-Shit.- he hissed. –Press is eating us.- 

-Yep. Apparently people blame the PD for unusual murders even when we’re the murdered.- Juliet clutched her mug tighter. –I half-thought sharing such a horror would make them more supportive. I should have known better.- 

-What do the high spheres say?- 

-The mayor office is pressing hard on us. He called the Chief three times since seven. After the photos of the bodies they suppose the killer is a super, and don’t like it a bit.- 

-Well, I can’t really blame them. So the news escaped?- 

-Yep.- Jules said. - Pages three and four, full-colors. And same on the Nightly Planet and the Backwater Chronicle. Some reporters seem almost disappointed we follow the rules. They want us to execute the killers, as long as they can deny it. We’re the only suitable for the job and the most expendable at the same time.- 

-I see. So now you’ve got pressure from human authorities…- 

-And from Victoria, yes. So he _is_ cranky.- 

Shawn couldn’t really blame Lassie either. Fear was the best away to stay alive or get killed; humans had always been masters at both. There was no way to recognize human killers, but monsters, they were easy to track down, we could hunt them, we’ve already done it. Damn. 

Juliet waved a hand to them. -Anyway, go to him. I join as soon as the thing is finished.- 

Shawn exchanged a look with Gus. He felt his stomach churning, as every time he was forced to make the most ethical choice. 

-Ah, let me help you Jules. Gus, precede us.- 

-I don't want to stay in the same room alone with a cranky vampire, Shawn.- 

- _Go_.- 

There was a brief session of Silent Fight, then his best friend stuck out his tongue in defeat. He stomped off to the detectives’ desks. Juliet giggled softly and turned to gather the photocopies. 

Shawn took a deep breath. Time to go. 

-Jules. You’re really okay?- 

-Yes.- She said. -Why do you ask?- 

-The nails. You painted them fresh. Fuchsia is hot date, mother of pearl good case. Pink means trouble.- 

She gave him a dry chuckle. –Well, Shawn, I've just met unarmed and in her cove the Queen of city vampires and seen her flopping around my best friend like a rag doll. They’re the kind of things that make you upset.- 

-I know, Jules. But he’s okay. We are all.- 

Jules clasped the cup tighter, breathing fast. -That’s not the point, Shawn. He’s second in command, right? He's the second most powerful vampire in the whole city. He's loyal despite himself. She shouldn’t treat him that way.- _Tighter_. - He has every right to demand more.- 

Victoria's voice laughed in his head _. He wouldn’t ever wanted it enough._ Shawn gulped hard. 

-Ah, I wouldn’t dwell too much in Vamp politics, Jules. But I, wasn’t talking about it.- 

–So about what?- 

He hinted at the mug. Tiny cracks ran along the porcelain. –About this.- 

-I don’t understand.- 

-C’mon, Jules. I’ve felt you last night, when I stopped you. You could have torn my arm off with a single hand. That was nowhere a normal thing.-He stepped nearer. -Last analyses weren’t negative, were they?- 

She flinched as if he had slapped her. –What- 

-That’s no problem at all, Jules. Really. But you should talk with someone. Lassie knows it, _right?,_ but I bet he’s not exactly an expert. Being a true werewolf is not just getting furry once a month.- 

Jules resumed collecting copies. Stiffly, silently. 

–This is none of your business, Shawn.- 

-Juliet…- 

She swirled around, growling softly, and suddenly her eyes gleamed orange. Shawn took a step back without thinking. 

-This is none of your _business_.- 

The porcelain gave up with a snapping crack under her fingers. Juliet shoved it on the drawer. She stalked past him, clutching the envelope close, not looking at him. Behind the office doors he glimpsed Lassie looking up and frowning at Jules's face. He stood there like a perfect dick. A stressed vampire, a werewolf in denial. Wow. 

Shawn picked up the broken mug. Sighed. 

-Fuck.- 

* 

Lassie was really sitting at his desk, wrapped in a plain black suit and a vaguely sulkier expression than usual. The leather gloves rested by the pc. A red tie was pinned to the shirt with a delicately carved cameo. Nothing showed someone had broken his spine less than a day before. Somehow it felt very wrong. 

-Hi Lassie-fangs.- 

-Spencer.- He imperiously rose a finger as soon as Shawn’s butt neared his desk. –Don’t _even_ think about it. Woodrow said he’d perform the ritual in less than five minutes. We have no time for your malarkey.- 

Shawn elegantly slipped back on his feet. 

-I excuse you this word just because you're a frail centuries-old grandpa.- 

-It's a perfectly acceptable word.- 

-Guys, _please_.- Gus half-sighed.-Can we just go and get this done? I have a day-job, you know.- 

-I perfectly agree, Guster. As long as your idiotic partner is not on my desk.-Lassie got up, arching his back, and stiffened for a second. His mouth twisted in pain. Shawn found he couldn't look away. Lassie bleeding on the backseat, bones snapping. Pop pop. Crack crack. 

-Spencer? Are you here?- 

He swallowed the block of ice stuck in his throat. 

-Ah. Ah sure. Woody. Ritual. No desk.- 

Lassie’s blue eyes reduced to slits. –Yes. Pretty much. C’mon, let’s go.- 

He marched towards the basement doors, slipping the gloves on, and he and Jules lead the way. She still didn't cross Shawn's eyes but brushed his arm, _don't say anything, please._ He smiled back. Peace was probably restored _._

_To get to_ Woody's lab they had to cross half of the PD. A bunch of Pixie rookies apologized for swirling around Lassie's feet; in a corner McNab was asking questions to a very desperate Mountain Troll. A lot of strange fantastic things were happening in the precinct, as always, but for once Shawn couldn't see them. There were happening too many things around the precinct, down in the earth and out in the streets, to him, to Jules, to Lassie. Juliet's powers were rising fast. Lassie looked too pale, Victoria knew who Shawn was, he maybe fucked it up already. Rules were changing. He didn't know them. 

When Gus tapped his shoulder he nearly jumped down the flight of stairs. 

-Geez. Shawn, what's up?- 

-Ah, nothing, buddy. Just thinkin'.- 

Gus didn't say anything, but Shawn wasn't sure he had bought it at all. He tried hard to breathe normally. Shake it off, Spencer. There was nothing to worry about. It was not like he had to think about the things all together. No, not at all. He had to fiddle about, yeah. One step a time. There was nothing to fret about. They were still safe. They were all still alive. 

_Crack crack._

Shawn plunged hands in his pockets, and thought that probably it wasn’t normal to look forward to a Necromantic ritual in the basement of a precinct. 

* 

The Necromancer Hall was really a cozy place. Relaxing, that is. In his childhood Shawn had got his share of hazy 80’s sci-fi movies, and those Necromancers usually lured in shadowy, gnarled caves drenched in wrinkled heads and cheapy gore. Woody’s hall was nothing like that. It reminded him keenly of his dentist’s studio more than anything, with the tidy glass-covered cabinets and the smell of disinfectant and pine scent, the family photos set on the side desk. 

Of course his dentist didn’t have a full row of butcher knives along a wall or the blood oroboro smeared around the exam table. 

Or the dead body on it, now that he thought harder. 

Shawn leaned back against the drawer and bumped into a bowl of finger bones, sending it to crash on the floor. He grinned when Gus and Juliet jerked around. Lassie cast him a murderous glance. 

- _Sorry_.- 

Lassiter growled and turned back, crossing his arms. Shawn tried to read his mood. He looked pissed or vaguely worried, but then again that was his normal face. It was hard to tell. 

Suddenly the morgue doors opened with a gracious humming. A Pop rhythm pumped in the silence as the Necromancer waltzed to them. The Necromancer wore a pink-striped shirt and a pair of plush crocks. The doctor cloak floated around him as he took off the Ipod headphones. 

-Oh, hello hello. My favorite team of detectives. How's it hanging Carlton? I heard you got a pretty complicated- 

-Enough with the pleasantries, Woody.- Lassie snarled after no pleasantries at all. - I understood you were ready to perform the Awakening on the victim. If so I need it fast.- 

-Oh, sure, sure detective.- He smiled wildly. - I'm glad you brought the guys too. This is a good one, it'll be a wonderful show.- 

-We're sure of it, Wood-man.- Shawn called from backseats. Jules and Gus nodded slowly. 

-Oh, that's so nice, Shawn.- 

Woody beamed. No one of them doubted he was serious. Police Deps had begun to employ Necromancers since they realized the best way to make the dead talk was making them _actually_ talk. However most Necromancers were trained as coroners too, and regular PDs still didn’t cherish involving wizard-like people in their cases. Necromancy had ceased to be a legend since long and to be a sin since longer. Like most magic nowadays it had been catalogued and locked into friendly-scans phases indicated by Latin names that looked good on college books, but as most magic, it didn’t give a damn about Latin names. It was made of blood and death. It left strands. Necromancy was playing with souls, and most experts thought even the player’s one at last would get out a bit wacky. Shawn was positive Woody’d be like this anyway. 

Their Necromancer rubbed his hands with glee. 

-Very well. So, let’s begin.- 

Shawn had seen a lot of Necromantic rituals, in his lives. Once he had even been the executor's assistant, even if he had been kicked out half-way for having dropped the corpse off the altar, but still it was one of the few things that had never gotten boring. He watched mesmerized as Woody went to the knife wall, chose a short, gleaming blade. Silver, probably: pure enough to keep the necromancer safe, not as precious as gold. Their friend walked back to the corpse on the table and under the neon lights Shawn recognized the bulky man from the crime scene photos, the cropped blond hair, tanned muscles slack in death. Its chest was a mess of gnarled flesh, the stitches even uglier than he remembered. Woody lifted the knife and slashed it through his palm with smooth ease. Fat drops of blood swelled up, along his fingers, as he used a thumb to draw his art’s complicated circles on the body's chest. Gus's fingers automatically clasped around Shawn's triceps. Lassie's face gleamed sharp, focused on Woody's red finger. 

Was it disgust? Was it _hunger_? 

-Take care, my friends.- Woody whispered. –The game is on.- 

He closed the last circle as things got weird. The lights turned off and no one had touched them. Suddenly the world stopped. No sound, no steps from the precinct above, breathings, the construction yard hum from across the road. The shadows in the room changed, shimmered. They were no more in Santa Barbara, or at least not only there. He and Gus inched closer to the detectives and Lassie didn’t object. 

Woody smiled and he too was different. His face had changed, pale and bright and impossibly wide, glazed like a bad photo. Out of his eye Shawn caught other things, scarlet mouths gnawing around Woody’s head. Yikes. 

Their friend brought up a hand and hinted at the body. Lassie nodded. Woody touched its forehead with the smeared thumb and muttered a single word. 

-Wake.- 

And the corpse did wake. Eyelids shuddered. Lips pursued. In front of them the body rose to sit on the table, shifting slowly, easily. He was nothing like movie zombies, but he was nowhere less dead either. He moved with the shallow precision of a doll coming to life, and that was even scarier, because _what else can happen when toys can move?_

Woody’s voice rushed over the blood pumping in Shawn’s head. –Very well, very well. Do you understand me, friend?- 

The corpse nodded. –Yes.- 

Gus’s hands squeezed his arm with very tangible force. 

-Good. Talk to the gentle detectives, now.- 

Woody gestured towards Jules and Lassie, and Juliet stepped in. Interrogating the dead followed different rules than the living; it required patience and control way over guilt and intimidation, and neither of them were exactly Lassie’s best skills. 

Carlton’s shoulders got tighter every inch she took. Jules stopped two steps from the altar, looking utterly blonde and utterly young in front of the dead. 

-Hello, friend.- 

-Hello.- The corpse said. 

-I’m Juliet. You remember your name?- 

-Yes.- 

-I’m here ask for your help.- 

-Why.- 

-To seek the truth.- 

The corpse looked down, at his knees, Woody’s blood drying on his chest, and nodded. Dead respected truth. They understood nothing but truth. 

-Ask.- 

-What happened the night you died, friend?- 

-They killed my lady. They took out her heart, they sewed it with cords of silver. I begged.- 

-They were enemies of your lady?- 

-No. They were friends, good friends. Treachery. They had laughed with us. So much blood. They have promised.- 

-Treachery?- 

-Yes, yes, treachery it was, on my lady. They had made promises, and then sewed her heart in silver.- 

Jules’s pose told Shawn the words had caught her attention, but she didn’t look away from the body. It was still staring at his knees, but the face was gnarled, teeth gleaming. It took him some moments to get it was a sad face. 

-Who they were, my friend?- 

-Friends, friends.- The corpse shook its head, hard. - They laughed with us. They loved her. No, stop, please, please. Stop. It hurts.- The head kept shaking. -it _hurts.-_

-The names, good friend, I need the names.- 

-Names, names, what they mean? They’ve killed my lady, us, so much blood.- The corpse’s voice had changed. It was a male voice, a person voice, deep, true. It echoes wildly around the room-not-room, stirred things deep into their stomachs. It was desperate. He was desperate. Woody’s head quivered behind it with its scarlet mouths. Jules cast a glance to them as the dead talked again. 

-Oh, why friends? Why you betrayed us, friends, good friends?- 

The corpse shrieked and hunched and plunged his head in his hands, weeping. Sobs flushed in the dark, echoing, thousand of ghost crying and screaming and dying around them. Lassie muttered a curse. Goosebumps rose all the way up Shawn’s arms. The echoes were not dying. The Underworld or whatever that thing was was starting to sense them. It was fuckin’ time to go. 

Lassiter knew it too. He reached out to grab Jules, but she slapped his hand off. She asked a last question as the shadows kept screaming. 

-Why did they kill you, friend?- 

-We do not know.- The corpse said. Looking up his eyes where empty sockets. –This we do not know, Juliet.- 

* 

The first thing they did was making coffee. No one of them really needed it, but the ritual, take the filter put the coffee pour cream and sugar, was a good way to taste world’s reality again. The relax room, nicely solid, nicely full of living things. Yeah, very nice. 

Shawn looked at the coffee swirling in his mug. –So, any idea?- 

–About the case?- Jules said. 

-About how not to get skinned by Victoria?- Gus offered. 

-A bit of both actually. Lassie-fangs?- 

Said fangs got bared at him. The detective took a sip of his overly-sweet slop, sinking in the chair. He could snarl all he wanted but like that, the jacket undo, the shit-face they all shared right then, he looked very human. After the absurd place they had been, he looked home. 

–For now the best trail is the Necromancy interrogation. If only I could get something actually logical from those dead creepers.- 

-That guy’s just been gruesomely killed, man. Give him a break.- 

Lassie shrugged. The scowl wavered as he slipped in his Detective self. 

–Well, let’s see. The corpse talked about an unexpected attack, that was fairly sure, so no obvious enemy like ghouls or hunters. And _treachery_. He talked about treachery too.- 

He turned to them, eyes troubled and jaw set hard. He looked the image of outrage and probably was. Lassie came from a time when treachery was understood, and often truly despised. Lassie did believe in it. It gave a warm pang Shawn didn’t understand. 

-Carlton is right.- Jules agreed. –A mention of treachery means that the attackers were people of trust. Allies, even friends.- 

-I wouldn’t bet on the friends part, O’Hara. We, vampires are not exactly subtle in personal vengeances. If the couple was the target of a duel or outrage they wouldn’t have bothered with such a clean death, and anyhow, we would have never found the body.- 

-I thought you didn’t do that stuff anymore.- Gus said. 

- _I_ never did.- 

Lassie was too old to let power slip without knowing, but he didn’t need to. He had this magic power to make people ask sorry for things they wouldn’t ever think. 

-Ah, sorry.- 

He gestured the matter away. -So, this leaves allies. Vampire allies, that is.- 

-And people that are either reckless or simply stupid.- Jules frowned. Pink fingernails clacked against the mug. –Or desperate. But because of what? There’s no underground war between Fae, Jiins are quiet. Werewolves too. Who would risk a war with vamps with no real need?- 

-O’Hara.- 

- _Vampires_ , I meant _vampires_.- She cast a glare at her partner's head. -However the question stays.- 

Shawn blinked. The pieces suddenly fell in place. He talked before knowing it. 

-Or too smug.- 

–What do you mean, Shawn?- 

-You said we need an ally either too stupid or too desperate. What if it is someone just too jerky to care?- 

-Who are you talking about?- 

-The cool kids of Supernatural world.-Shawn said.- _Fairies_.- 

-Fairies.-Gus made a disgusted sound. - Never liked them. Seamus McTiernan lifted my lunch for three years, the little nasty shoe-maker.- 

-I gathered vampires and Fae pretty much ignore each other.- 

Lassie nodded. -Usually yes, but this does not mean they like each other. Fae are the epitome of Blood-made supernaturals, and vampires are the most powerful Craft-made community. They've despised fiercely the other kin for as long and they existed. The treat was established mainly because both parties were too hard to kill.- 

By the end of the sentence he actually snorted, delighted by his own gruesome joke. He was trying his hardest to sound detached, but nonchalance wasn’t exactly Lassie’s knack. 

-So, I don’t know. You think it’s plausible they’re behind it? Risking to screw everything up?- 

-Yes. They’re ancient, so they’re both strange and vindictive. And the wickedness of the modalities suits them.-Lassiter grimaced. -Nabbing one of them would be a living Hell though. They’ve had millennia to find the sneakiest lawyers, and media adore them.- 

Shawn gave a single cough. 

-Well, for that matter. I, think I could have a solution.- 

Gus suddenly looked as if he’d swallowed a wasted lemon. -No, Shawn.- He squeaked. -No no no. Not the Tooth Lady, _not her_.- 

-Don’t tell me he has pickups even _there_?- Juliet arched an eyebrow. 

-Yes he has.- He stated. -But we are _not_ going to use them.- 

-C’mon, Gus. Don’t be a first-grade pottery project.- 

-Quit it you both.- 

Lassie lifted a bony hand. 

-I’ll ask you two questions and nothing more, Spencer. Do you have an informant in Fae community?- 

-Aye sir.- 

-Is it probable they’d try to kill you at first encounter?- 

-Not really.- 

-Are you sure?- 

-Yeah.- 

The vampire and the vampire hunter stared at each other for a long time, one half-sprawled on a chair, one smiling an obviously liar smile. No one won. No one lost. 

- _Fine_.- Lassie sighed. - It’s probably a demonic influence talking, but go with it. We have no time to spare.- 

He totally ignored Shawn’s yelp of triumph. 

-When can you arrange an appointment with them?- 

- _Her_. And the answer is,- He fumbled with his phone while slipping in the jacket’s sleeves - two hours from now.- 

- _What_?- 

-Get up Gus. The District awaits us.- 

-And the mega-discount at Mighty Smoothies?- 

-Forget it. And move that hazy ass of yours.- 

The Jinn shot on his feet, ritual tattoos burning wildly with awkwardness, and shuffled grudgingly behind Shawn. Spencer’s leather jacket was already flowing past the door. Their Sneakers stomped along the corridor like kids’ones. 

Juliet turned to Carlton, lips pressed, eyes wide. He lifted a hand again, sighing. 

-I know, O’Hara. Yes, I’ll drop a couple of men to take a look on them all the way, yes, we’ll keep the radio on the whole time and yes, we'd be the first to arrive if there is any need.- 

She blinked. Stifled a chuckle. 

-Actually, I was just curious about the Tooth Lady.- 


	4. A Thorny Affair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shawn meets his informant, an old flame from the Fae families of Santa Barbara. Things go pear-shaped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for your support, guys.

**Chapter 4**

**-A Thorny Affair-**

The Magic District was born as a sort of ghetto, but that had had been centuries before and even more money before. It had soon turned out Fae had been a significant portion of the families that provided good ol’ Santa Barbara's funds in its early days; therefore most of them currently resided in fancy terraced houses with placid gardeners and absolutely human maids sweeping away snake skins and claw-cracks from their spotless parquets. Fae were powerful, often beautiful, utterly able at concealing: and they were old in a way no human could even imagine. They hadn't ever left the boundaries they were given; but they’d managed to make any young Normal die to sneak a peek past them. At some point, well before Vamps and other Sups moved to be publicly recognized, the whole District had become a tight, bursting knot of entertainment. The trendiest discos, the darkest strip-clubs, Irish pubs, underground clubs, they all were in those two-blocks of stone-walled hallways, all packed up with breath-taking, shimmering fae owners ready to wipe out tourists in the most pleasant ways and cheap magic filling naive mortals' eyes; and the Fae owned it all. 

Thinking it back, the District had not been a great idea. 

Shawn lent back on his uncomfortable pub’s chair, taking a sip from his shamrock-tini. 

-Gus, can you please chill a bit?- 

-I can’t.- 

-At least stop with that thing. You’ll give me a headache.- 

-I can’t help it.It's this place.- He hissed fiercely. - Everyone’s watching us ‘cause we’re not damn Fae.- 

-No, they’re watching us because there’s a Jiin in polyester pulsing like a strobo.- Shawn sighed. -Calm _down_. There’s nothing to worry about. It’s not like you don’t know her.- 

-That doesn’t make it any better, Shawn.- 

Gus took a fast bite of his waffles, smearing half face with green frosting. The glyphs tattooed around his body flickered again with power, so hard the table actually buzzed with it. That’s why Shawn was sipping his drink off it. 

-You’re being over-dramatic. You’ve always liked ‘Gail. And we didn't break up bad, after all.- 

-You didn't break up bad?- His best friend's gilded eyes squinted. -Shawn. Do we remember the same _St.Patrick’s Day_?- 

Shawn took another sip. A voice called them before he had to reply. 

-Shawn. Gus!- 

A young woman had pushed the pub's glass doors open, hopping towards them on lovely pink heels. She was petite, wrapped in a flowery summer dress, with the kind of glowing, cream-shaded complexion only Pureblood Fae could sport. Various heads nodded at her from the locale's corners, but she didn't even acknowledge them. 

Abigail stopped at their table, bending a bit over it. Chestnut hair spilled downaround sharp cheekbones. Hazel eyes batted at Shawn with appreciation. 

-Mh. I see you’re cute as ever, Shawn. You don’t look a day older than the evening at the Rainfalls.- 

-Same for you, ‘Gail. But I suppose that’s less surprising.- 

-Indeed.- She slipped daintily on the third chair of the table. –But I appreciate all the same.- 

Shawn hinted at his best friend. -You remember Gus, right?- 

-Of course I do. You were always such a perfect gentleman with my kin. I so regret our last encounter ended in, so a troubled way.- 

Gus half-choked onthe word. - _Troubled. Yeah_.- 

Shawn discretely pestare Gus’s foot under the table. 

–So. How are you doing Abigail?- 

-Oh, you know.-'Gail crossed her legs under the table. -Same ol’ things. Teaching at the kids down at St.Patrick’s, doing gardening. I give a hand with Ma’s business during weekends.- 

-Ah, Leah. She was so sweet. Give her a kiss for me.- 

-I will. You've always been Ma's favorite.- 

Abigail was a Tooth Fairy. Yeah, just the kind you're thinking about. Her Ma had collected the teeth of ten generations of Santa Barbara kids, so his own too, and on the first and only family dinner 'Gail dragged him too the sweet lady had chuckled in delight and asked to inspect his molars.He passed the exam only thanks to Gus's toothpaste fuss. 

Once, before Patrick and Vikings came to Ireland and invadere their woods and thrones, her ancestors had sewn mankind’s fates, had sciogliere its twists and its ends. Shawn didn’t know how much life strand they still held, or what's the exactly meaning of gathering kids’ teeth. He’d never asked. They might not be gods anymore, but they remembered how it feels damn too well. 

-Oh, I'm glad you're still teaching. It suits you. I bet kids are just super-excited about a fairy teacher keeping them from eating pastels.- 

-Yes. Enough with little talks, friend. You haven't called me to chat about good ol' times.- 

It wasn't a question. Shawn pushed a knee a inch further, just enough to brush Abigail's. -Maybe I got a bit nostalgic.- 

-You didn't. What are you here for, young Spencer?- 

Abigail smiled hard. Her face thinned vagamente andshe let him glimpse all the centuries and millennia and battles behind it, the exquisite lie of her flowery dress. Shawn swallowed. 

-Okay. No jokes, correct?- 

-No jokes.- 

-Okay.- He shared the briefest look with Gus, licking his lips. -Is it, going on something funny among your folks, ‘Gail?- 

-Something nefarious, I should suppose.- 

-Yep.- 

-Well, no, Shawn.- -I can't talk about the Trooping, but no Sidhe is warring right now. There's nothing that should concern your pretty face.- 

What a nice way to tell him not to mess with their business. 

-How’s going with Vamps?- 

Abigail gave in a deep sigh. -It is _not_ going, and that’s the most satisfying arrangement possible. Is this about them? I heard the bloodsuckers are having a pretty rough time. Someone’s picked up the old ways.- 

-You know anything about it? You know, some rift one could like to get back for?- 

-No, and. Oh. _Oh_. I see.- Round dark eyes fixed on him. -Shawn, do you think the murderer could be a Fae?- 

-I didn’t say such a thing.- 

-But you think it. I bet it has been that vampire friend of yours to suggest the idea, right? Victoria’s pet. The detective.- 

Lassie. Shawn’s back stiffened. –How do you know about him?- 

-I read newspapers, Shawn me dear. There’s not a lot of Vamp cops around, and only one Department that would employ a vampire hunter too. Sodid you choose to betray me for them, mio amore? For those vulgar leeches?- 

-Well, actually the trail is mine. I’m not on official mission, ‘Gail. I’m a freelancer. I just need to get this done, give them a scribbling and take the bucks.- He leant on the table, putting on his best Good Boy face. He gently took her hand. -Please, give me a hint and I'll be out. A little favor. For the sake of old times?- 

Abigail held his fingers with a darkchuckle. -It hasn’t changed anything, has it? You’re still so good at smiling, wrapping people around your finger.- She wasn't smiling.-You did hurt me that day at the Waterfalls, Shawn.- 

-And you nearly skinned me alive, ‘Gail. Literally.- 

-That wouldn't have been a even vaguely proper punishment, Spencer.- She said. -I am Fae. We can forget, but never forgive.- 

He was going to reply, but it was a bit Gus was tapping obsessively on his shoulder. 

\- Dammit Gus, what's up?- 

-Shawn. Shawn, now they _are_ watching us.- 

Now that he said it, there was something strange in the pub. A sudden lack of sounds, of voices. Shawn dared a look around. Every other costumer had slowly stood up, and was now staring at them in complete silence. Fuck. He bet no one of them was human. Fuck fuck. 

Shawn pulled, trying to get his hand out of ‘Gail’s grasp. It didn’t work. 

-What does it mean, ‘Gail?- 

-It means you’re in trouble, boyo.- 

Abigail was staring right at him and the bones under her skin were nowhere human. He gulped, trying to prevent things from going completely downhill. 

-I don’t get it. We’re friends. I’m not accusing you of anything.- 

-You played me, Shawn. You enjoyed my love, my home, my treasures, and then threw them away like dried sterco horse.- 

-Well, that’s, that’s not true. I just humbly ventured the hypothesis we should have taken it slower.- 

-You refused me in front of my elders.- She snarled. –And tried to snatch away with our gold _all the same_.- 

-‘Gail.- Shawn breathed. -‘Gail-babe. Could you gimme my hand back? With all the fingers attached, please.- 

'Gail's fingers squeezed _harder_. -You dishonoured me, my whole kin. You betrayed by trust. You are the one under accusation, human.- 

The table was shivering again under their touch. Gus's skin sparkled uneasily. 

-Shawn.- 

He ignored him to focus on the pissed fairy clutching his arm. If a werewolf could rip human flesh with a single shove,Fae could do a variety of nastier things. It was the worst part with them: you know they basically want to kill you, but you could never guess in how much time and in how many ugly ways they intend to do it. The Hunter blade would just make her laugh. Crap. 

-Shawn.- The air around Gus’s head started to buzz. 

-Stay cool, Gus.- 

Abigail snorted. –I wouldn’t stay much cool, Gus.- 

-Shawn.- 

-Don’t do a thing, buddy.- Shawn said. –It’s all peachy.- 

-I don’t think so, boyo.- 

- _Shawn_!- 

His hand was cracking. Abigail dashed forward. Shawn shut his eyes. And Gus flared up. 

Power deflagrated around the table, pouring lightoff like a beacon. Gus's glyphs flickered, shifted in other shapes, eyes burning like gold moons. The Fae shrieked as hot winds crashed them against walls, and Abigail was torn away by Shawn’s hand with a startled gasp. The blow kicked him off the chair, crashing his butt against stone. For a moment there was nothing but earth and skin and bones humming with magic thicker than incense and older than dunes, and in the middle of itstood the gold-black statue of his best friend. 

Then it went as it’d come. The buzzfaded away, light died. Shawn looked at Gus from the floor. Gus stared at him. They all watched the others as if no one could believe what has happened. 

But they all knew it. A Jinn had just used his charms against a fairy folk, in their territory, with no explicit threat. It was one unforgivable outrage. It was an outrage worth of spilling blood. 

Abigail was up before Shawn could see it. Her hands had somehow turned intolong twisted claws, clacking against the floor.The crowd behind her snapped and changed, howling softly. Her mouth split in thin rows of fangs. 

Oh oh. 

Gus squeaked. -Shawn.- 

-Gus, _fly_.- 

There was one big disadvantage in fleeing from a bunch of wrathful Fairies. Shawn had fled from his fair share of creatures through years, so he knew the matter, and Fae were the worst, because they are unpredictable. And the only way to get away alive, is to be _really_ fast. He and Gus were at the rear door in seconds, rushing past it without slowing down. Among the crowd Shawn’d glimpsed leather wings and chicken paws and arms that shouldn’t be there. He didn’t take a second look. 

-Dammit, Gus- he gritted out as they flashed down the rear of the pub. -What the Hell were you thinking?- 

-I don't know, Shawn.- Gus whined. -You've always told me I should use more my powers. I wanted to help.I thought it would be cool.- 

-It was _absolutely_ cool.- He replied. -But I wouldn't have tried it with a millenium-old enraged fairy gang, maybe.- 

The rear corridor was echoing with theFae army’s shrieks. Kitchen door. Toilet door. Storage door. Where was the damn exit door? 

-I've told you that was a horrible idea, Shawn.- 

-Just look for the freakin' exit, Gus.- 

The screams and growls were getting closer. The rear door flashed on their right. Shawn plunged through it with a back shove and ran in the meanders of Magic District. It was not a smart move, considering their chasers actually _lived_ there. They’d get lost in no time. Dammit. 

-Now?- 

-No idea.-Shawndared a glimpse at their back. ‘Gail was almost on them, and a big snake thing with bigger fangs too. He had a sudden image of those fangs clasped around his butt. 

–Oh, crap.- 

-Shawn!- 

He turned in time to see the dumpster, but not to avoid it. His knee connected with the bags, Shawn lost his balance and found himself rolling on the ground. 

Gus froze midstep. -Shawn- 

-Go, Gus, _go_.- 

Gus didn’t move. The Fairies rose over them like a crawling wave of faces and claws. Shawn gasped, waiting for the blow. 

And then the air burst in flames. 

The fire blossomed suddenly, all the way across the hallway, raging high like a burning wall. He had a second to jerk back his foot before it was caught in.The Fae lot shrank off the heat, screaming, claws and wings ablaze, wrinkling back to hands and faces. Shawn looked blankly at the flames. They were blazing in purple. Iron powder. 

He blinked. -What the…?- 

A dark figure darted suddenly from the corner, clasped an arm around their necks and roughly shoved them in a mop of garbage bags before they could even get scared. Gus yelped as kitchen remains droppedon him. Shawn cursed loudly. The figure, _the man_ , crouched back in the street, wielding a rowan crossbow in front of him, an iron arrow already in place. The eye-shaped tattoo shone off his sleeve. 

-Get back, Paddies. Abigail, you too.- 

From behind the line of fire, Abigail growled. -No need to be so rude, sir. We're just claiming ourrightful prize.- 

-Not tonight, ma'am.- 

The crossbow was still firmly aimed at her head. She hissed, smiling a very unpleasant smile, andlifted a hand to her henchmen. Someof them wriggled in the shadows on beatles-like paws. Big-eyed ghostsfloated off in the night sky. Many just disappeared, until was no one but'Gail, and she too melted awayin thin air. The hallway got suddenly silent. 

Shawn grimaced. The dark figure stood and turned to them, strapping off his pilot’s goggles. The man underneath should be around fifty, bulky, mostly bald, strong jaw. The eyebrows line looked utterly familiar, something in the lips too. The last purple flames flashed off his grim face. 

-You have lots to explain, kids.- 

Shawn gave a sigh. 

-Hi, Dad.- 


	5. Family Drama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry Spencer is scolding his son and his ghostly best friend for their foolish mission in the Magic District. They'll end up touching old wounds and new ones. Until everything goes to Hell again.

**Chapter 5**

**-Family Drama-**

Henry didn’t say a word for the whole ride. Not a word. He kept driving his truck, _a sort of dark-ish version of the Mistery Machine_ , with him and Gus put on the rear seat like disobedient kids caught in the middle of a prank. That was Shawn’s almost constant feeling around his Dad. Back at the Magic District, when he’d shown up in pure Batman style and rescued them from Shawn's fairy ex, Henry's glares had stopped Gus’s sheepish blabbering at the start; and it was actually almost impossible to sound bold while covered in fae-club garbage. Shawn had tried some comments after that, but they all fell in silence. He contented himself to lean against the car door, watching the faint crease of pink stretching over Santa Barbara's Eastern skies. 

Finally, Henry pulled the pick up on the side of the road. He turned it off and kicked the door open. 

–Get out.- 

They obeyed. Gus scampered out of the seat and Shawn followed, hobbling after Henry up the flowers-brimmed sidewalk of his cottage. Gus’s eyes beamed softly like worried fireflies. 

-Why is he so _angry_?- 

-Difficult to say, buddy.- Shawn whispered back. - Too many options.- 

His best friend was too terrified to scowl. 

They were almost at Dad’s door. Henry stepped up the porch, rummaging in the leather holster for the keys. They stopped beside him. Shawn cleared his throat, discretely. 

-Well, Pope. Thanks for the ride and the, err, rescue. Very showy. I think it’s better going now, you sure have a lot of things- 

-Get in, Shawn.- 

-Oh. Sure. Well, so maybe I should leave- 

-You _too_ , Gus.- 

Henry undid all the locks, brushed away the protective charm glyph smeared under the “Good Day!” doormat, and opened the door. Lights flickered up as he walked in. 

Shawn muttered a curse and followed his father. 

The house of his childhood hadn’t change a bit; as always, it managed to feel well-known and not familiar at the same time. He recognized the swirling stair, the leather couch cluttered with Fishing magazines, the bookshelves that hides the crossbows display. He knew without feeling them that the floors were covered in sigils and silver powder: the smell of melted metal and blood a constant of his childhood. Once there had been the smells of Mom’s studio too, _incense and musk and tea leaves_ , up under the roof, but that’d been a lot of time ago. Now there was just Dad’s smell, and the basement door. 

Not knowing what they were expected to do, he and Gus crossed the hall and propped themselves on the couch. From there they could see bustle by the closet door. Silence fell. 

-Dad…- 

-Shut up Shawn.- He growled. –What the Hell were you two thinking, mh?- 

He was stripping himself off the Hunter suit: he had rested the crossbow against the wall, and was working to undo the double-holster belt. The reinforced leather waistcoat squeaked along his back. 

-Well, we- 

- _Shut up_.- 

-You told me _to answer_!- 

-That’s not the point.- Henry slammed the goggles on the drawer by the door. –Ah! Fooling around the Magic District like the last of newbies? And in the middle of the night? Have I not taught you anything at all?- 

-You’ve taught us quite a lot, Mr. Spencer.- Gus whispered. –Mr. Spencer, you’re not going to call my parents, right?- 

-No, Gus, I’m not. You’re no more eight.- Henry turned. –I’m not going to call the Sultan of House Guster to tell him his first-born is a moron.- 

Gus whimpered. Shawn had to admit Dad had a point. 

Henry swirled back to the closet to strap off the elbow knives. –So? What were you doing messing with ‘Gail’s fairies?- 

This time Shawn actually had time to answer. –We were working on a case.- 

- _Ah!_ Ah, sure. For your monster buddies, right?- 

-Yeah- He replied dryly. –For the Night PD. They asked our collaboration for an investigation and we accepted. Something big.- 

-I see. And why does this case involve you getting almost ravaged by a bunch of angry immortals?- 

-I can’t divulgate further information.- 

Henry barked a laugh. –Oh, let me guess. It has been the corpse cop, right? It has been it sending you there, right?- 

Shawn forced a smile. –It’d be better if you don’t call Lassie that way, you know. Not very politically correct.- 

-It has been _it_ , hasn’t it?- His dad gave a second laugh, even sharper. -Giving a badge to a dead walking thing. What the Hell was the mayor thinking?- 

Of course it wasn’t required an answer. Henry tossed the gloves away and finally showed how angry he was. 

-And of course trust my son to play buddy with it.- 

-Pope, stop. Now you’re exaggerating.- 

-I’m not, Shawn. Exaggerate would mean burst in that goddamn place and stick a pole through its heart, as it would be just.- 

-Now stop, Pope.- Shawn protested. –You don’t know him. Lassiter doesn't let me throw waste paper out of the trashcan. He is so good is almost disgusting.- 

-Good, mh?- Henry grimaced. –So why he sent you _two_ in one of the most dangerous lairs of the city? Why not one of his monsters, eh? Why not him himself?- 

Shawn exchanged a look with Gus. It was difficult to explain. It had been him, and the ritual, and Victoria, and Lassie _trusting_ him. Henry talked again as cool anger pooled in Shawn's guts. 

-Vampires aren’t good, Shawn. No more than a snake could be.- 

-Oh yeah, a snake.- Shawn said. -Well, if so he’s the _fucking_ nicest snake I’ve ever met.- 

-Don’t use that tone with me.- 

-I’m no more twelve, Pope. You said it yourself.- 

-Sure you’re not.- Henry hissed.-You were way less stupid at twelve.- 

It was not a new line. Shawn stiffened and gave a chuckle. Henry sighed. 

-Now get up, both of you. You stay here for the night.- 

-I'd rather- 

-Your absurd car is still there. Abigail’s men could be looking for you till dawn.- 

Henry didn't move, staring right at them, eyes dark, half-clad in shadows. He looked like he was going to add something, but just shook his head. 

-Go to sleep, kids.- 

* 

Shawn waited for Gus to reach the first floor before crossing the room. 

Henry was standing by the kitchen table, his belt supplies shoved all over it. He pulled off the fridge a chellophaned sandwich and shoved it on a table spot free of silver-powder jars and bunches of bullets. Shawn leant against the doorway. 

-He didn't lure me in, Pope. _I_ wanted to go to the District. It was my choice. He just trusted me, Pope.- 

-This doesn't change a thing.- Henry grumbled. -Vamps have tricks, considerable psychic skills. They're a tricky lot.- 

-Whoa. Now I've been vampire-lobotomized.-Shawn snorted softly. -Is it really that tough to imagine someone _actually_ trusts me, Dad?- 

-Cut the crap.- 

Henry sat down at the table, eyes fixed on him. -I know you, Shawn. I know you love these things, the thrill, the cases, hanging out with wackos just to piss me off, but that thing is not your friend. It's _nobody's_ friend. It's not human.- 

Cool anger, deep and hard, crept up Shawn’s chest. -He’s not human? What is it supposed to mean?-He clenched his teeth so hard it hurt. -What about Gus? And Vick? AndMom? They’re monsters too? They’re worth of, _how did you put it_ , having a pole stuck through heart?- 

-It’s different.- 

-Why?- 

-Because that thing is _dead_ , Shawn. It walks, it talks, but at some point it has been a corpse and nothing can change that. There are boundaries even magic, even we should not cross. Death is one of them. Whatever comes back from it can't be right.- 

-Well, this sounds a bit too easy to me.- 

-Christ, Shawn.- -Why do you care so much about this Vamp?- 

The question took him by surprise. He straightened, frowning. -Because.- Shawn gulped. He said the truth. –Because he’s _Lassie_.- 

-Then you’re a fool, son.- 

-Sorry?- 

Henry made a frustrated gesture. A disgusted one. -You really were more sensible at twelve.- 

That was too much. He felt like breathing through sandpaper. -I was more _scared_ , Pope.- Shawn spat back. -You put a damn knife in my hand and told me to kill a person.- 

-It was not a person.- 

- _She_ was. _She_ fuckin’was, Pope. And Lassie’s too.- 

-I did it to protect you.-Henry closed his fists. They were shaking. -Dammit, Shawn. You’re my son. You’re my _heir_. We’ve been Hunters for generations, for centuries. This is what you’re meant to be.- 

-It’s what _you_ want me to be, Pope.- 

-No, kid. You have the skills to become a great Hunter, and therefore it is your duty to be one. You can do good. You can save a lot of people.- 

-Oh, peachy.- Shawn replied. -I’m good at killing guys with a crossbow, what a _fucking_ satisfaction.- 

-You’re wrong.- 

-I don’t think so.- 

-He is not a person, son. None of them is.- 

Henry's voice was low and solemn, and Shawn knew he did mean it. Dad didn't understand. He was again in that damn parking, the girl bleeding against his arm and Henry screaming behind him and _her eyes_ , her eyes staring at him the whole time. Dad hadn't seen her eyes. He'd never seen any of their eyes. Shawn took a step back, feeling suddenly very tired. 

-As you like it, Pope.- He said. -But he has never asked me to kill someone.- 

* 

The next morning Shawn got up late, around ten. He turned in his teenage bed, _new sheets, just changed_ , squeezing eyes against light and sleep. 

Someone was knocking on the door. Gus’s voice seeped through the wood. 

–Mr. Spencer said breakfast is ready. Up to it?- 

-Yep. Gimme five minutes to put something on.- 

Shawn scampered down the bed and half-stumbled crossing the room. He opened the door. His best friend was standing in the corridor, crumpled stained shirt only visible sign he wasn't coming back from a business reunion. 

-Ehy Shawn.- 

-Ehy Gus.- 

-Have you called Lassie yesterday night?- 

Shawn rested his head against the jamb. –Crap. I forgot.- 

-You forgot? _Shawn_ \- 

-I know, I know. Uh, he’ll be Hell tonight.- 

-Why didn’t you text him?- 

Shawn threw him a look. -Gus, he’s a Civil War vampire. I think texts are a bit out of his league.- 

Gus gave the unhappy face he made when finding nothing to reply. –Fine. I’ll text Jules after breakfast.- 

-Oh _oh oh_ \- 

-Cut it here, Shawn.- 

-Sorry pal. C’mon, let’s get down. Has to happen sooner or later.- 

Gus nodded soberly. He knew damn well what happened in the kitchen the night before, but knew them too well to say anything. Shawn was so grateful. –Yes, let’s go.- 

Shawn listened as Gus tapped down the stairs. He went to the bathroom, took a shower, put on his jeans and found a clean shirt in his old drawer that fitted him without looking like his lil brother’s clothes. He stumped down the steps while putting the second sneaker on, and suddenly he was twelve again. 

The living room was full of light, shards of sun grazing old patched leather and stone walls and porcelain knick-knacks packed on the shelves. The air smelled of coffee and vaguely burnt fried. Shawn walked in the kitchen before regretting it. 

-‘Morning.- 

Henry waved from the counter. -Sit down. Coffee’s ready.- 

-I don’t want- 

- _And_ pineapple juice for you.- 

Shawn smirked and slipped next to Gus at the oak table. It was actually a sort of tradition: Dad making pancakes as he woke up after long nights. During holidays he would sit at the table doing math homework, waiting for Pope to finish, asking him multiplication. Back then it had been perfectly normal to see fresh bandages around Henry’s arms. It had been perfectly normal to step past newly-cleaned stains on the floor, or catch the oil-cloth smell from the row of blades tidily lined on the side of the counter. 

-Blueberry syrup or maple?- 

-Maple.- They answered in sync. 

-Right away.- 

Henry piled the last pancake on the plate and turned. He walked them to the table and slipped the plate on the tablecloth, sitting on the third chair. He and Gus nodded a thanks and put some fritters on their plates. They ate in silence. It was a companionable silence, a good silence, one made of childhood memories and summer things. No one felt any need to break it. 

After the fourth pancake Gus pushed away his plate, clearing his throat. 

-Maybe I should call my parents, and Jules too.- 

-Yup, go on.- 

Henry stopped with the fork mid-air. -Who’s Jules?- 

Shawn cast a glare at his best friend. –Gus, _go._ \- 

-Ah, yes, that’d be better.- Gus fumbled up with a nod. –Ah, Mr.Spencer, thank you for the breakfast. And for saving us yesterday. And for not telling anything to Dad.- 

-You’re welcome, kid.- 

Gus nodded again and jogged back to the hall. Henry watched him going for a long moment. 

-Will he ever realize he has the power to reduce this house in dust with a single thought?- 

-Let’s hope not.- Shawn replied. They snorted. The silence shifted imperceptibly. 

-I’m sorry too for last night.- 

-I wasn’t going to say so.- 

-Well, I didn’t mean it.- Henry took a sip of coffee. –You’re doing it wrong, son.- 

-As always, Dad.- 

-Dammit, _Shawn_.- 

-Ah, it was weird we haven’t argued for nearly ten minutes.- 

Henry scowled harder. His lips tightened in a line. -Maybe we should stop talking right away.- 

-That’d be wonderful.- 

The door bell rang before they could jump at each other’s throat. Shawn pushed away the pancakes. –I go.- 

-Yes.- 

He sighed, getting up. He crossed the hall and reached the door at the third trill. Shawn peered through the peephole. Blue shirts, serious faces. He opened. 

On the porch were two men in police uniforms. Blue ones, not the silver-rimmed ones of Night PD. 

–Yes?- 

-Good morning, sir. Is this Mr. Henry Spencer’s residence?- 

-Yeah.- Shawn answered slowly. 

-We’re police officers of SBPD.- The taller guy said. –We have a mayor urgency to speak with Mr. Spencer. Right away.- 

-Ah.- Shawn said. –Ah. Err, I’m Mr. Spencer’s son. May I ask why you need him?- 

Shawn looked down at the tall guy’s feet. He had stepped over the threshold charms without a flinch, so he was no Sup. This didn't explain a thing. 

-I’m sorry sir, but I fear I cannot explain further. It’s a highly confidential matter.- 

The guy slipped inside with his companion at his heel. Henry peered in from the kitchen door, face wary. Shawn didn’t doubt there was something nasty in the hidden hand. 

–What’s it, Shawn?- 

-I'm not sure, Pope.- 

The tall cop turned. He nodded grimly. –Mr. Spencer, I suppose.- 

-Who are you?- 

-Mr. Spencer, you should come with us.- 

-Not so fuckin' easy.- 

Henry took a step forward, and the rifle of a Colt popped up from behind the kitchen door. Everyone stiffened. Gus came back from the rear door and froze. Shawn could practically hear his best friend's inner screaming. 

-Pope…- 

-Stay back, boys.-Henry kept eyes and barrel fixed on Tall Guy. -Tell me who the Hell you are, or you’re gonna regret it, lad.- 

For a moment it really looked like they were going to do a tragic OK Corral in their living room. The tall cop took a breath. Henry loaded. Neither backed. 

Then Tall Guy tightened his lips. 

-All right. All right, Mr. Spencer.- 

He lowered a hand, slowly, and something clicked off his belt. It was only then Shawn realized it was a pair of handcuffs. 

-Henry Spencer.- The tall cop said. -You’re under arrest for the six homicides of Santa Barbara Killer.- 


	6. Grumpy Pumpkin King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry is almost under arrest, Shawn is not dealing well with it. Asking Lassie to personally interrogate his Dad sounded like a good idea - but this is going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Chap! - after ages, I know. I want to apologize - and say I'm planning to finish this story, 'cause it'd be a pity to leave it as a WIP, but I'll probably make it shorter than I had previously imagined. The current chapter is heavily focused on Henry's POV and dialogue, but I still hope it turned out somewhat engaging.  
> P.S. : When talking about Carlton, Henry shifts from "he/him" pronounces to "it" - it was a sort of trick to show the progressive respect he grants the vampire as they keep talking. Let me know what you think!

**Chapter 6**

**-The Grumpy Pumpkin King -**

Shawn didn’t even remember to get up. He was just there, on his feet, moving forward as soon as the guards brought his Dad through the precinct doors into the flowing crowd of deep night. There had been times like this in the past – his mind sucked out from the world and feverishly magnifying the blow-up, burning anything but a single dot of existence, until he barely felt he had flesh and bones around his eyes anymore. He hated it. He feared it. He felt Gus running beside him, but couldn’t really see him. There was just his Dad and the cops holding him by his elbows, every handcuff chiseling blazing white-hot in his eyes, and nothing around it. 

“Dad!” 

Henry wasn’t paying attention, staring at some point between the next floor tile and his foot, face set in the stubborn line Shawn had seen several times in the mirror, but when he called him his eyes were already on him. Shawn wondered if his voice did sound that pathetic. So much like a plea. He decided he didn’t give a damn. 

“Shawn, what the Hell are you doing here?” 

Shawn bit down hard on his cheek not to scream. _What a sweet time to be an asshole._

“Take a wild guess Pope.” He snapped back. “What did they tell you? What’s the charge? They have no evidence – no, no, of course not, and they sent you here so-“ 

“Shawn, go home. Take Gus and that absurd car of yours and wait there. It’s all right.” The guards trudged in, across the hall, down to the right, to the Interrogation Rooms. “It’s all right son.” 

Shawn was jogging beside him; he almost crashed into the rookie pixies flock, shoved McNab half out of the way. He didn’t even felt it. Henry was looking at the tiles again, head tilted on the left side, shoulders tensed in a tangle of sharp lines. Shawn knew that expression too. The blow-up focused and clicked. 

“You’re lying.” He whispered. 

Henry grimaced, pulling his lips together as he forbade himself to avert his gaze. For the space of a breath he looked ten years older, he looked like Henry Spencer, a man protecting his kid, fighting the urge to pat his head and say farewell. 

_Oh God, tell me I’m wrong Dad, for Christ’s sake tell me I’m wrong._

It was a moment. It passed, and Henry was eons away again. “It’s gonna be all right kiddo.” He said at last, and the cops pushed him past the corridor door. “Go home.” 

Shawn tried to reach out out of pure reflex. One of the cops – apologetic face, tall, he probably knew him right- gently pushed him back, half-excuses falling off his lips like water drops. He squirmed a bit, but he was too tired and too clumsy to get much done – the kind cop pushing him to the side like you do with a overzealous puppy. Shawn took a deep breath. Gus’s warm hand clasped around his shoulder, seeping glow and soft spice magic through the fabric. He leant in his touch with a hint of desperation. The focus changed, got large again, and God, the world was big. 

“This is not gonna be alright, Gus.” 

“I’m so sorry, man.” 

“He’s my Dad.” Shawn breathed out, whined. _It’s gonna be all right, kiddo._ “He’s my Dad.” 

“Shawn, look there.” 

Something in Gus’s tone got Shawn’s attention. Gus’s yellow eyes were staring at the precinct doors again; he followed their gaze. Lassie and Jules were marching through the crowd like Hellfire itself was on their and an elephant on their path would be pulverized to crumbs without breaking a sweat. Jules was barking orders to McNab and a tall rookie with pale luminescent skin and Banshee traits, Lassie fissure his pale blue eyes to the Interrogation Room corridor like the upsetting ago of a compass. Over his crisp white shirt he was wearing a pin-striped black-ish thing that made him look like he had jumped straight out of a Tim Burton’s movie. _An angry Jack Skeleton. The Grumpy Pumpkin King._

Suddenly, the world felt smaller. Shawn breathed better. The blow-up stopped scorching his eye sockets. Then he snatched Gus’s sleeve and made a beeline for them. 

“Lassie!” 

The detective didn’t slow down - not even to fry him on the spot with one of his trademark death glare. Bad sign. “Spencer, I can’t talk with you about it, so get lost.” 

“The Hell.” Shawn replied smoothly. He and Gus fell beside them without an invite, but were not told to get the hell out of the PD. _Mixed signals, need to clear up things._ He pressed further. “Do they hand Dad’s case down to the Squad? Are you gonna interrogating him here?” 

“Of _course_ they did.” Lassiter hissed through gritted teeth. His eyes were catching way too many lights under the bullpen neon – swirling and throbbing in azure bolts, pulsing from deep within. He walked in such a carefully crafted, human-like way Shawn could say he was one step from setting the room on fire by sheer anger. “It’s a Supernatural case, they should have not taken it on themselves in the first place.” 

“But are you gonna interrogate him?” 

Lassie sped up, shared a secret signal with Jules that took less than a blink of an eye. Long enough for him to glimpse it. Shawn had no intention to let go and sped up, cutting in front of them. 

“But, are _you_ gonna interrogate him, Lassie-fangs?” 

The motion was so sudden a common guy would smack into him and tumble forward in a huffing heap of limbs. Of course, Lassiter fare to a perfect halt exactly five inches from his face. On any other day – and ehy, here Shawn was being honest, on any other day – directly bossing a vamp cop and a young trained lycanthrope would spark a shiver up Shawn Spencer’s spine too, but now he stood his ground, staring right into the Head Detective’s face. The hint was thick. It left no room for interpretation. 

_Are_ you _gonna do it, Lassiter, because it’s the only way. Because it’s the only way making sense. Do it Lassie. Please, Lassie._

They were at the corridor door; the Hellfire that had chased them when they walked in the precinct apparently still burning on their heels. Shawn held Lassie’s gaze for a long moment. He saw fire, scorching blue fire burning eyelids and pale veins - the shudder of a power that sped up his pulse and pumped ice through his bones and suddenly biting his lip was all Shawn could do not to whimper like a bleeding bunny tossed in a corner. Then he blinked, and they were just Lassie’s eyes. 

“I’ll do what I can, Shawn.” 

Shawn was shaking – from different reasons. He took a deep breath. “Yeah. Thanks.” 

He nodded, stepping aside. The detectives rushed past him and Lassie held the door open for Jules. Shawn was looking for something poignant to say, found nothing. 

He gave the detective a raw look – blinking moisture out of his eyes, almost invisible in the neon blaze. “It’s my Dad, Lassie.” 

He didn’t hesitate. “I know.” 

* 

When the vampire got in the interrogation room Henry had come to count twenty-three tiles on the pale linoleum floor – as well as every bolt in the contraption his handcuffs were fastened to, and the fifteen indents on his side of the metal table. The Monster PD rooms were made different from the ones he remembered from his days in the force: the walls thicker, bolts nailing down steel sheets like a submarine’s chamber, a web of defense glyphs drawn in chalk under his feet and spiraling around the table in tight coils. The glyphs were freshly remade, verses for demons and ouroboros for homunculus and iron-powder for Fae, but underneath Henry had seen old stains of blood seeped through the floor and deep claw scratches. He supposed keeping in trashing unnaturally-powerful demons called for drastic measures. 

He heard the reinforced door open. Something slid in with a rush of fabric – the waterfall of junction clicks and piston clacking shutting him in with whatever had walked in. _There we go._ Henry took a calm breath as he considered once again the chairs, the one-way glass window, every sharp steel corner of the desk that could be employed in a diversionary action – then he crossed his fingers and lifted his head. 

The vampire was standing two steps from the door. It was fidgeting with the jacket’s buttons – the central button slipping in the hole, the central button slipping out - and had not bothered to hide the bulge of a shoulder holster. Henry glimpsed short hair, baby blue eyes, a slightly crooked nose. It could have easily passed for a man, but no man had eyes blazing so bright. 

“You’re the vamp cop, aren’t you?” 

The thing had resumed walking to the table. It stopped mid-step, frowning. “How can you-“ 

Henry shook a hand with a clack of handcuffs. He was pointing at its black-and-silver jacket, the obnoxious black silk tie tucked in the waistcoat. 

“The suit. No living person’d wear something like that.” 

“ _Ah_.” A second of silence. The vamp closed its mouth with a sharp clack, lips pressed in a line – Henry found himself tensing against the restraint, fingers itching for his elbow knife, before realizing it was just a deeper frown. “Ah. Of course.” 

The vamp nodded, walked up to the desk and slipped in the chair in front of him. He laid down the folder and the pen he was carrying on the table surface, carefully, intertwining his fingers over the heap of docs – bright violet paper, silvery rims. Henry wondered if it was a poor attempt at Gothic aesthetics or if they were really equipped with Halloween store leftovers. 

“I am Carlton Lassiter, Head Detective of the Night PD of Santa Barbara. May I presume you know my name already?” 

Henry shifted on the chair. _May I._ Formal construction, too smooth for being a pose. Mid _1800s, not past Twenties?_ Sounded plausible. “Yup. Monster Squad, or something like that.” 

“Something like that.” The vamp stated dryly. The closed mouth and pressed lips came back, face draining to sharper lines around bones. He opened the folder with a terse _snap_. 

Henry was fairly positive he had pissed a vampire off. 

“ _Well_ , I must say your name isn’t new to me either, Mister Spencer.” The vamp replied, dryly. He looked down at the papers s peeping out from the folder, reading aloud. 

“Henry Spencer, Head Detective for Supernatural Affairs for twenty years, regular executioner, regular federal marshal, regular Supernatural hunter with special powers for immediate execution. Is it correct, sir?” 

The sharp lines and thin lips were still there, but there was no emotion as he listed the impressive number of titles enabling Henry to go around sticking stakes through its peers’ hearts. He smirked, knowing smirking was stupid. 

“It’s correct.” 

“Excellent.” A pause. Plastic squeaking as the chair leant back. “Do you know why you have been brought here, Mister Spencer?” 

Henry didn’t say anything; instead he busied himself staring at his hands, trying to keep his focus. The vamp may not be old, but it was powerful. Henry’s psychic skills were crappy at best, but he felt it clearly: a touch of fire on the outskirts of mind, cold and blue, cleverly restrained. It was like walking on ice and knowing there was a raging maelstrom underneath. 

“Yes. Two of your fuckers got in my house and arrested me.” 

“It has not been any of my officers to take you into custody, Mr. Spencer. And anyway, you are not under arrest.” 

Henry shook his handcuffs again, forcing out a gleeful clink. “So what with the trinkets?” 

“You nearly shot in the face the officer appointed to escort you.” It said smoothly. “The handcuffs are simply a preventive measure.” 

He actually had nothing to object to that. 

The vamp was lining pen and folders on the desk with contained, precise gestures. Back in its living days it should have been a soldier, or a cop. An officer too - judging by the way it carried itself and the flawless ironed lines of the pin-striped suit. Henry grimaced. They were the worst to deal with \- the ones that had been people he could have actually liked. 

Henry tore his gaze from the vamp’s hands, looking up. “I’m fairly sure you organized all this pantomime just to get rid of me.” 

The vamp arched an eyebrow – lips tight again, pulling back a bit on its teeth. “I would have killed six persons just out of spite of one?” 

“Don’t go all scandalized, _leech_. We both know your kin do way worse things and for way pettier reasons.” Henry grinned. “How convenient though. Arresting the ol’ vampire hunter as your first suspect. That’s some lucky shot.” 

The word made the vampire stiff as Henry had expected. _Leech_ had been a common slur for vampire for at least one hundred years, one of those things screamed in fear and anger out of the windows as the sun set. Since vamps became legal it had turned in a dreadful taboo, but Henry hadn’t given it up. He remembered a time when leech was a soft name and meant dark nights and bloodied streets. The vampy cop remembered it too. 

“I told you” It snapped. “I have _not_ arrested you. The Day PD took care of that.” 

“Christ, things never change. You’re so good at hiding behind people, aren’t you?” 

“Sir - there is no need to be so harsh. I’m merely trying to protect your people and mine, and I’m confident that’s something you can understand.” It replied. Henry clenched his teeth. 

“What were you doing on the first of November, Mister Spencer?” 

The vamp leant forward to ask its question, jacket shuffling around the stitches. Henry’s eyes fell on its shoulder holster, the SBPD badge clipped to its belt, gold and battered like the one he’d stuffed in the cases in the attic. It was like being punched in the stomach. The anger came all at once, like a popping cork. 

Henry snorted. “I can’t believe it.” He laughed again, words chocking in his throat. “I can’t _fucking_ believe it. Do they really let one like _you_ interrogate people?” 

“Apparently yes, Mr. Spencer.” The vampire replied coolly. 

Henry planted both hands against the table, leaning forward. “No way. I want a human cop at least. A _person_ _cop_ at least.” 

The vampire leant forward too. “You’re dangerously close to offense to a public officer, Mr.Spencer.” 

“I’m not gonna get interrogated by a leech. Forget it.” 

“And I have the authority not to let you out until this leech interrogates you. Your choice.” 

Henry’s hands shook against the metal. The vamp was furious, he could tell so – its magical-driven body betraying it if not its face, shoulders tensing, lips receding on fangs, craving blood. It was so close to snap. Henry wanted, _ached_ for it doing it; doing something stupid, something authorizing him to put a knife through its heart and be done with it, no more vamp cop, no more Head _fucking Detective_ , dumb badge or not. He dug nails in the desk edge till it hurt, waiting, muscles shaking, ready to leap. But the vampire wasn’t attacking. It held its ground, hands clasped around each other tight enough to crack bones, but a microscopic smile on his lips. Blue-steel power crept along Henry’s arms, too quiet to burn but itching on the skin. He realized it. The vamp was pissed, _royally pissed_ – but it would not raise a hand against him. 

_I could smash you with one hand, mouse, I do – but I won’t give you the satisfaction._

They stared at each other; Henry fixing his gaze just one inch to the left of the vamp’s neck, not directly on its eyes, making it look natural. There was a chance Karen would really let him here, if he didn’t collaborate. There was a chance these people, _these idiots,_ really thought the leech was a cop – which was madness, pure delusion, but door bolts were not delusions, nor cells, nor cuffs digging in the skin and his knives stuffed in numbered plastic bags. He could believe it all a puke-worthy pantomime, but the world didn’t agree. It hadn’t agreed with Henry Spencer for a long time now. He swallowed hard, tasting bile on the tongue, deep in his blood, and grunted. 

“’ _lright_.” 

Silence – a single word echoing with so much defeat. At least, the vamp didn’t brag. 

“Good.” He gave a sharp nod. Flipped open the folder again. “What were you doing on the first of November, Mr. Spencer?” 

“I was, cleaning a colony.” 

“Vampires?” He asked softly. 

“No. Ghouls.” 

“Mh. You think anyone can confirm your whereabouts for the evening? Your son, a phone calling-“ 

“I know how it works, thank you very much.” Henry growled – feeling way too harsh, spitting words as they came. “However, no, I have no witnesses. I work alone and when I got there the colony was desert. Probably a tip-off, who knows. Money came all the same, so.” 

“Mh. Then you can’t produce any confirmed alibi, right Mr.Spencer?” 

“No, I can’t.” Henry hissed. 

“Mh.” The vamp said again, non-compromisingly. He shuffled through his cards, dropping the question with no apparent care. “What about yesterday evening? Did you find yourself anywhere near the crime scene?” 

Henry grinned – completely despite himself. The press had yet to release anything about the third murder, let alone about the crime scene. Until the morning, there was no way a civilian could have access to any relevant detail. The fucker was surprisingly astute. 

“I do not know the location of the crime scene, mister. You didn’t tell me.” 

The vamp looked taken back – or something approximating it. “Yes- yes of course. My apologies.” He answered, voice carefully monochrome. “However, I can inform you at least five witnesses affirm to have seen you in the involved zone not one hour after the presumed TOD of the victims, and employed force when confronting civilians.” 

Henry snorted. “The _civilians_ being the Fae and Gus and Shawn?” 

“Yes.” 

“That’s ridiculous.” He protested. “I was trying to save the dorks from a hoard of pissed pixies, they can confirm that.” 

“Yet you were in proximity of the crime scene with a full asset of mortal weapons on you, Mister Spencer.” It said blankly “These are some confusing circumstances.” 

“I was coming back from a job. I’m a _Hunter_. I always have basic weaponry on me, I got the licenses.” 

“But you have no witness to your movements?” 

“ _No_.” Henry sighed. He rubbed his eyes, groaning, weariness choking anger too. “Look, I don’t usually stand back chit-chatting with my clients. People don’t like us much since you guys started playing the goodie little vamps.” 

The vamp tightened his lips, fangs twitching under the skin. The hand resting on the table tapped hard enough to leave indents. Henry peered at him through his fingers. It didn’t make sense. The vampy cop looked like the kind of vampires loving to mimic human features, but there was something off about it. Most of them, elder ones especially, shuffled from total blankness to excessively expressive faces - wide grins when there’s nothing to grin at, scowling dramatically with no reason to scowl, a bad patchwork of how-to-draw faces they didn’t understand anymore. This one instead looked like those persons trying to look impassible and sometimes forgetting about it. It was either very smart or very stupid. 

And Henry couldn’t tell which one. As he couldn’t tell what that thing was aiming at. He licked his lips. _Vamps lie, vamps deceive_. Presume the worst. Don’t put any hope in their words. 

Henry crossed his legs as he leant back against the chair and made sure the secret blade no one had looked for was still behind his third belt loop. 

_If it jumps, I still have seven seconds._

“You think I am the killer, vampire?” 

The vampire seemed to consider him for a long moment, eyes bright and large and not human at all. Then he straightened and tilted his head. 

“No.” He answered. “But I know a lot of people would think so. And I do think you could help us, for no one has quite as much experience in killing my kin as you have. Except maybe _my_ kin itself.” 

“What do you mean?” 

The vamp said nothing and took off the folder a bunch of photos. He tossed them across the desk. “Here.” He said. “These are the shots we took on the first two crime scenes, and these the ones from yesterday. The autopsies are yet to be performed, but it seems safe to assume it’s the same hand.” 

Henry eyed the snapshots pushed towards him, warily. On the first one he glimpsed a female hand, the ugly glass of dead skin beaming from a embroidery of crunched leaves. He reached for it, the pile of empty eyes and frozen grins underneath, and started scrolling through it. 

“Holy shit.” He whispered. He almost forgot where he was, eyes sucked into the celluloid-printed blood, the sharp stitches in thick silver string. “This is professional.” 

“Indeed.” The vampire replied. “Your son was of the same advice. Do you note anything else? Any clue, any oddity?” 

Henry kept examining the photos, frowning. He had been honest: the work was professional, almost too much. The stitches on the vamps’ chest were always clean, regular. No sign of commotion. Minimal amount of blood. Henry had a certain experience in the matter and he knew extracting a heart was a messy job, especially with a trashing angry monster that would try to tear off your head till it had one arm able to move. Such neatness could only mean the vampires were already dead before the heart got extracted. Or that the killer was strong enough to hold them down while working. 

“The killer is a Sup.” He stated slowly. “That, or they work in group.” 

“I thought so too.” 

Well, that was an intriguing twist. Henry thought back about something the vamp had just said, turning it around his head, planning trails and hazardous leaps he knew he couldn’t rule out, till the pieces made almost sense. 

He arched an eyebrow. “That’s why the idiots were at the District?” 

“Aye.” The vamp answered after a pause. He squirmed on the chair, lips creased in displeasure. “Now I see that was a horrible idea. Damn it, I should have never let Spencer come after the Mistress fiasco.” 

Henry froze on the seat. The vamp's words fell down in his mind, clicking in place - resonating like explosions. He actually had to grab the table edge not to sway. Victoria – the Bone Wife, the vamp’s master, a lair chock-full with vampires, _his child_. He clenched teeth hard enough to feel tendrils of pain shooting up, up to his brain, but at least he managed to swallow back down the bile. 

“You took Shawn to Victoria’s lair?” 

“Well, yes.” The vamp replied. “We got a convocation from Victoria on the night of October the 31th, and it required your son’s presence too. I assure you it was not a easy decision, though.” 

“I knew I should have not let him work with you monsters. I _knew_ you would put him in danger someday and feed him to your owner.” 

“Sir” The vamp said softly. “I would never feed anyone to my Mistress.” 

Something, in the vamp’s voice. Henry didn’t listen. "You’ll leave him alone." He hissed. "You’ll leave _my kid_ alone." 

The vamp stopped his shuffling to look at him. Then he shrugged. "I'd be more than happy to comply, Mister Spencer." He grimaced. "If only they stopped showing up at my damn crime scenes every single time." 

"Don't you _dare_." Henry shot back. He thrust himself against the desk, teeth clenching. "Don't you dare, _leech_. My son can be a jackass, but he's not stupid. He knows how the world works. He knows how _this_ world works." He didn't specify whose world he was talking about - if the hunters', the vampires', the men', the one of anything running under the surface, thriving with laws made through different natures, squirming on the outskirts of existence. He could see the vamp didn't like to be counted there, lips pressed together as the grimace deepened, but Henry couldn’t give a damn. 

"He would never, never trust one of you without a damn good reason-" He spat out, slashing out a finger almost into the vampire's chest. "-especially someone like _you_ , Mister Cop." 

Henry's words made the trick. The vamp had resumed going over his papers, looking pointedly ad anything but his face, like he'd been told not to indulge into a kid's requests - but those words, they did the trick. Shattered the illusion. The vamp was fast enough to swallow it, but Henry had seen it: the fury, the _hunger_. He watched it talk through gritted teeth. 

"What, do, you, mean, with, this?" 

"What I said, Mister Cop." Henry pushed on, leaning further, closer – lips stretching in a humorless grin. "I got your game, you know? The new vamps, creeping through society strings, pretending, seeping in because of - what, some leisure? Food? Fun? I know you're a bored bunch of fuckers, but I must say this whole sham is really, really starting to rub me the wrong way." 

The vamp's jaw clenched harder, face a mask of sharp lines. "Mister Spencer, I don't know what you're aiming for-" 

"Drop this bullshit." Henry slammed his hands against the desk hard enough to rattle the cuff chains. He had enough. He had been pleased to see the blasted thing was getting riled up too, that the mask was thinning - but the same went for him. The anger from before hadn’t disappeared, it was back there, hot, painful, burning with pictures of battered badges. He grabbed the left sleeve of his sweater, pulling it back with a tug. The claw scars were as ugly as twenty years before, slicing skin up to the elbow, cicatrized tissue splashing around his wrist. Skin pearl rose like three months after the attack. "I got my arm nearly chopped off by one of your friends, leech-“ He breathed. “-and not while I was hunting, oh, oh no, but while I was bringing my kid home from the karate lesson. That thing jumped out of the dark without a sound, and was over us, left me bleed on the street with Shawn crying two feet from me - and all of that, because it said it got _bored_. Things are not supposed to live as long as you do, leech - not evil things, not even dead things. That's why I can't stand your lot running around like this." 

"Mister Spencer, I may be forced to sue you for offense, I told you-" 

" _Drop this bullshit_ " Henry was howled. The vampire actually stopped talking, closing his mouth, going as far as creasing his brow in puzzlement. It made things worse, it made things so much worse. "Stop _pretending_ , for God's sake. Stop it. What do you want from Shawn, mh? What are you even _here_ for?" 

The vampire didn't answer. He straightened, hands closing around the desk, digging in the metal. "I may not be a mortal man, Executor" He croaked. "But I'm an honorable one." 

"You're not honorable." Henry pulled down the sleeve, grin still pulling his lips back, painfully so. Over their heads the neon lights had started to flicker, shuddering from black to white and back again. The vampire didn't even realize what he was doing. Henry did –he knew he should stop. But he couldn’t. He thought about the badge under the pin-striped jacket, the boxes in his attic collecting dust - _Detective Lassiter, Head Detective Lassiter_ \- and his hand slipped past his belt, brushing cold steel. He lifted his eyes to stare into the vamp's face. "You probably knew what honor was, back in your days - but now you're a predator, fueled by a flawed magic. You've lost honor along with a beating heart, leech." 

No reaction. Flicker of lights, the hands clasping hard the table edge. "Don't you _dare_ , Mister-" 

"You don't know what honor is, vampire." 

The vampire's voice dropped. The table squeaked, and Henry saw spider webs of cracks spreading under his fingers. "Mister..." 

The blue power was rising again, throbbing around them, like a thunderstorm preparing over the coast. It made no sound, but Henry felt it closing in, ripping through his skin in its crawling. _We're there, we're almost there._ He leant in, grinning, heart pounding as he plunged in the thunderstorm. __

"And if you really believe it, you're more pathetical than I thought." 

“ _You Bastard!_ ” 

The vampire gave a growl, low and rumbling, a predator thing that ripped through the room in a clash of thunder. Lights went off. The table gave up with a crash, shattering like glass, and suddenly the vamp was reaching for him. 

_Five seconds._

“Carlton!” 

A blonde girl, plunging through the door, horror on her face. She screamed the vamp’s name. Henry’s hand was already around the knife belt. 

Then the PD quaked with explosions. 

Three of them, fast in succession, rumbling down the corridor in a blazing slap of heat. The recoil was hard enough the blonde swayed and almost crashed into Henry. The vamp had to grab the desk remains to stop himself from flying into the wall. 

There were some shaking beats of silence – concrete dust falling from the walls, teeth stopping chattering in their mouths. The lights crashed once and for all above them. Then the vampire stood up in the dark, swirled to the girl. “What was that?” 

She shook her head, eyes wide. “I have no idea.” She leapt back on her feet, pushing against Henry’s shoulder. Golden power flickered up his arm like a whiplash, hot and raw, _not human but alive so alive._ Henry cursed. A surge of yells and cries rose up through the corridor. The room shook with yet another explosion and this time Henry saw flames flickered off the door. 

“Grenades.” The vampire said. 

“Yes.” The blonde shook her head again, moving closer to the vamp but still holding Henry’s shoulder. Her fingers dig deep enough to leave bruises. If he pulled, she’d rip up his damn arm in a heartbeat 

_A freakin’ werewolf. A vamp and a freakin’ werewolf._

“I’d rule out thugs.” The werewolf cringed, shifting closer to the vamp. Shoulders trembling with barely repressed energy. “ That’s no amateur.” 

Henry agreed. Four explosions, all from the PD main hall, where every officer probably was at this time of the night. Where people wait at this time of the night - stubborn, young people not knowing when to follow a good advice, waiting for him like lost kids running from their first Haunted Mansion ride. Gus. _Shawn_. The world slowed. 

“It’s an assault.” 

He felt both the vamp and the blonde’ eyes falling on him, but it didn’t matter. It was too much power for tough, big enough to reveal a plan. 

“It’s an assault.” He said again. “The timing, the organization. They wanna take the thing down.” 

He saw the girl’s back stiffen. They got it, they understood. The vamp let out a long growl. 

“They’re attacking us.” He hissed. “They’re attacking _my PD_.” 

The vampire didn’t seem interested in Henry anymore. He was not even looking at him. He kept growling softly and the fangs were still bared, but it was a completely different thing, another kind of anger altogether. Something crashed far in the distance, shattered glass and people screaming. The vampire followed the noise, very still, jaw set, and for a moment there was something familiar about him, something hard and blinding punching Henry square in his chest. 

A man in cowboy hat, fingers on his shoulder, smell of blood as he brushed his hair. They took Mom. They’ll pay. 

Henry came back with a jolt. For a handful of heartbeats the vamp seemed ready to combust, a lean, bare chunk of coal, blue power chocking throats like dry ice - then he straightened. He turned to the girl, gesturing to the wrecked desk, voice raspy. “O’Hara, we go. Take off his handcuffs.” 

“What?” She said. 

“What?” Henry said. 

The vamp didn’t bother to acknowledge their wide-eyed stares. He was putting on a pair of black gloves, cracking knuckles under the leather. “We’re under attack. I want every weapon available. So take out that blade you’ve been cradling for the past five minutes, sir.” 

Henry kept quiet. The werewolf pursued her lips, not pleased, not backing, and her hand from Henry’s shoulder with a residual pang of pain. She reached over to the remnants of the handcuffs contraption, and Henry’s wrists clacked free. As Henry rubbed them with shaking hands, the vampire turned to him. 

“One last thing, sir. If you fight whoever is attacking us, you have my help. If you touch my people, you’re dead. Is it clear?” 

He was staring at him. He was staring at him, and the moment was the most frightening thing in Henry’s life, and he knew he would never manage to erase it from his mind. It took him three full seconds to answer. “Yes.” 

The vampire gave him a nod, a single curt nod with no further explanations. Then he blinked and both he and the girl were out, dashing along the corridor, dark ghosts flying towards fire and wreckage. 

Henry could do nothing but standing there, blade half-sheathed, eyes wide, hands free. Another explosion shook the precinct. 

_Shawn, Gus._ The vamp cop hunched forward, eyes blazing in indignation. _You touch my people, you’re dead._

Henry ran to the door – the blade snatched off its scabbard and glinting in the fire glow. 

“Oh, fuck me.” 


End file.
